The Snowbird and the Dragon
by sentinel28II
Summary: Martin St. Mawgan, the CO of the Sentinels AeroWing, has been handed a daring plan. If it succeeds, the Sentinels will have the initiative. The problem is, he's only got four fighters to do it with. The question is, are the Smoke Jaguars awake or asleep? R&R, please!
1. The Dragon Stirs

**_THE SNOWBIRD AND THE DRAGON_**

 ** _A Story of the Snowbird Saga_**

 ** _By Benjamin "Sentinel 28A" Donnelly_**

 _WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE: It is the year 3056. Four years have passed since the end of the Clan War. The Tukayyid ceasefire has held thus far, but no one knows how long it will truly last. Meanwhile, factions in the Inner Sphere—factions that were held in check by the Clan War—have begun to resurface._

 _The Sentinels Regimental Combined Arms Team (RCAT) have rebuilt from their near destruction on Sudeten, under the command of Sheila Arla-Vlata. Not only have they rebuilt, they have grown: due to the popularity of the regiment, disaffected House warriors, marooned mercenaries, and even Clan expatriates have flocked to the Sentinels banner, attracted by the reputation of its commander and its reputation. By late 3053, the rebuilding was complete, and Arla-Vlata inaugurated the new Sentinels by sending it on an epic raid—Operation Cutter—across Clan-held territory. It was a success, and only added to the Sentinel legend._

 _However, the Sentinels' welcome home was not an entirely happy one. Having relocated their home base from Grunwald to Thorin, the Sentinels found themselves in the middle of old rivalries between the Federation of Skye and the Federated Commonwealth of House Steiner-Davion, who the Sentinels were contracted to. Those rivalries erupted into open war in 3056, as Skye revolted against Archon Prince Victor Steiner-Davion. The Sentinels refused to surrender, and the latest battle began…_

 _Imperial City_

 _Luthien, Draconis Combine_

 _31 August 3056_

 _Chu-sa_ Isoroku Ishida was thankful that the room was dark enough that the Coordinator of the Draconis Combine could not see his face. Ishida was nervous, and he knew it showed. It was not so much the presence of the Coordinator: Ishida had briefed him for the past nine months, and found Theodore Kurita a thoroughly likeable man. No, Ishida reflected, it was the fact that the information presented today was so momentous, so controversial, that it could lead to glory for the Draconis Combine—or accelerate its demise.

The dozen or so men in the room stood as one as Coordinator Theodore Kurita entered. All bowed deeply to their lord and held the bow until Kurita took his position at the head of the table. He returned the bow—though not as deeply, as befitting a _daimyo_ to his samurai. He then took his seat and bade the rest do the same.

"Fellow warriors," he began without preamble, "our purpose today is to finish our previous discussion of the Explorer Corps. I am not here just as the Coordinator, but also as a fellow citizen of the Combine and warrior." Kurita looked around the room. "Some of you have had difficulty with the idea of the Corps. I wish to hear those difficulties. Anything you say here will not be held against you. There are no invitations to seppuku waiting in my pockets." With that, he leaned back in his seat.

After a stretch of silence that lasted about a minute, _Tai-sa_ Hohiro Tatsuma stood. Ishida sat up even straighter than before. Tatsuma was the much decorated commander of the 5th Sword of Light; his word carried a great deal of clout. He was also the greatest opponent of the Explorer Corps. Tatsuma faced Kurita, bowed, and began to speak. " _Tono,_ I hold you in the highest regard; that you know. I have always supported your policies and served you to the best of my abilities. However, while I may agree in spirit to the idea of the Explorer Corps—" Ishida resisted the impulse to roll his eyes at that; Tatsuma made it clear many times that he hated the Corps "—we simply do not have the resources to mount such an ambitious undertaking."

 _Tai-sa_ Kiyomori Minamoto shot to his feet. As commander of the 7th Sword of Light, one of Luthien's garrison units, his word held as much weight at Tatsuma's. "Then we _make_ the resources, _Tai-sa_ Tatsuma. Is it not one of Sun-Tzu's tenets to concentrate everything at the focal point? The Clans' homeworlds are the focal point! We must strike for the throat of the beast!"

Tatsuma kept his voice even. "I agree with you, Minamoto-san. That said, the question remains: can we afford this? We are still rebuilding from the first Clan War. Are we ready for a second?"

" _Afford_ it?" Minamoto looked aghast. "We must be like the great Tokugawa at Sekigahara—we stake everything on one throw of the dice!" Ishida smiled at the analogy. Minamoto's invocation of Ieyasu Tokugawa, the legendary ruler of feudal Japan, was guaranteed to get people on his side. Few of the Combine could resist such a call to the realm's ancient roots.

Tatsuma, however, stood his ground. " _Iye, Tai-sa._ Invoking Tokugawa will not shake me from my position. If he had been destroyed at Sekigahara, Japan would have survived—not the Japan we know from history, perhaps, but Japan nonetheless. If the Coordinator's plan is flawed, then the Combine may not survive in any form."

He reached out and touched a button on the table. A holotank sprang to life. It shifted, then steadied into a two-dimensional, clear map of the Draconis Combine and its neighbors, the Federated Commonwealth of House Steiner-Davion, and the Clans: Ghost Bear, Smoke Jaguar, and Nova Cat. Gold dots sparkled on Combine planets with BattleMech units present. A solid line of gold bordered the frontier of Clan occupied space. Beyond that, the Draconis Combine's Mustered Soldiery was spread painfully thin. A mass of gray, light blue, and dark blue dots indicated planets with Clan 'Mech units present. Ishida saw what Tatsuma would argue: the Combine had no strategic depth.

"Before the Clans arrived, we had 99 BattleMech regiments," Tatsuma stated flatly. "At the close of that war, we had 60. Though we have been rebuilding, the DCMS will likely never reach its prewar figure before the Tukayyid Truce ends in 3067. That is only eleven years away—assuming we accept the Clans' word that they will not break the truce. I do not. If we shift DCMS units from the frontier to search for the Clan homeworlds, even any of the Ghost Regiments, we will not have enough units to handle any new Clan offensive. This is to say nothing of if the political unrest of the Federated Commonwealth does not spill over our own borders."

Kurita himself now rose, which compelled Tatsuma and Minamoto to resume their seats quickly. "Both of you are entirely correct," he said. "The Arm of the Dragon cannot embark on a worthwhile search for the Clan homeworlds and defend the Combine simutaneously. Clearly, the latter is more important—but do we sit and wait for the Clans to hit us again? No, of course not. We did so against Steiner and Davion in 3028, and lost. We attacked in 3039 and won. Therefore, we must find a different strategem." He turned towards Ishida. " _Chu-sa_ Ishida?"

Ishida swallowed nervously and stood, and tried not to shake. He bowed to Kurita, then began to speak. "The plan that the Coordinator proposes is codenamed Operation Polar Bear. Like all material pertaining to the Explorer Corps, it is classified most secret. As many of you know, a number of small, independent mercenary units have been disappearing from other Houses as of late. They have not disintegrated or disbanded, however. The Combine has been hiring them."

Ishida expected some resistance to that, though it was a tribute to Kurita's strength as a ruler that there were only murmurs. No one in the room could forget Theodore's father and previous Coordinator, Takashi Kurita, and his infamous "Death to Mercenaries" order—a result of Takashi's vendetta against Wolf's Dragoons. Even without the vendetta, mercenaries were never liked in the Combine, where they were derisively referred to as hireswords and worse. When every mercenary unit in the employ of House Kurita were summarily ordered out of the realm in 3027 on pain of death, few mourned the loss, even though some of the units were quite good.

Yet if these men did not forget Takashi's order, neither could they forget the heroic defense of Luthien, of which a good portion belonged to Wolf's Dragoons and the equally famous, and hated, Kell Hounds. Of the mercenary units across the Inner Sphere, the Dragoons and the Hounds had cause to hate the Combine more than most…and yet they had come to defend their old enemy's capital against the Clans. Since then, mercenaries were yet to be employed by House Kurita, but respect for them had increased.

Old hatreds died hard, however. "What for?" The voice's identity was lost in the darkness, but the incredulity in the voice was unmistakeable.

"The Explorer Corps," Ishida explained. "House Kurita will use them to scout for the Clan homeworlds, in return for a generous contract—" Ishida's voice was lost in an increasing roar of disapproval.

Once more, Tatsuma stood. "Using hireswords in what might be the most important mission in Inner Sphere history? The dishonor!"

Kurita's voice was full of humor. " _Tai-sa,_ you contradict yourself. If this is mission is so important, why are you so opposed to it?"

Caught, Tatsuma stammered. "I-ah, not in principle, _Tono._ But…mercenaries?"

"Would you rather have them replace your regiment along the Clan frontier, _Tai-sa_?"

Tatsuma stared at his boots. "Well, no, _Tono—_ "

"Then you have no argument."

Embarrassed, Tatsuma sat. Ishida tried to smooth things over. " _Tai-sa_ Tatsuma-sama, with respect. The use of mercenaries has many advantages. One, they tend to be more flexible than many of our units. Two, they are rarely made up of the same kind of 'Mechs as our House units, whereas ours are mostly known qualities to the Clans. Third, mercenaries are more, well, expendable."

A new figure stood. Ishida recognized her as _Tai-sa_ Elizabeth Venga of the 32nd Galedon Regulars. The 32nd had no great style as a unit, perhaps, but Venga's reputation was solid. "I have read that these mercenaries we speak of are not large units. I have also read that many of them left the Federated Commonwealth rather than face the Clans. How can small units with low morale be expected to be much more than target practice for whatever Clan they stumble upon?"

Ishida resisted a smile; he was ready for that question. "Large units, such as Wolf's Dragoons or the 12th Vegan Rangers, for instance, would be unsuitable to the quick raids and scouting that is part of the Corps' mission. As for these mercenaries who fear the Clans, that has a silver lining: only those units which hate the Clans or are adventurous enough to risk fighting them will accept a contract—much less one that will take them to the home ground of the invaders."

"And you have found such units?" Venga asked. "Small, bite-sized mercenaries?" There were some chuckles around the room at that.

"Not exactly bite-sized," Ishida replied. "We do want some depth. Even Tokugawa had reserves."

"Do you have an example?"

"Certainly." Ishida leaned over to the holotank controls and typed in some commands. The map dissolved and reformed as a circle surmounted by a knight's helmet. A sword bisected by twin arrows filled the circle, against a field of blue and white. Inscribed on the base was the word _Resurgens,_ Latin for Resurgent.

"This is the crest of the Sentinels Regimental Combined Arms Team. I'm sure all of you have heard of them. Their Operation Cutter was very successful, and of course they are best known for their defense of Kagoshima during the Clan War. They have recovered from the Clan War and represent the largest unit on our list. They are as nearly as large as the Kell Hounds, without the emotional baggage Morgan Kell brings. In fact, their commander, Sheila Arla-Vlata, has a good reputation in the Combine, especially among our more youthful warriors."

"Not just among the youth," Venga said, with a smile in Ishida's direction, to let him know she was not offended by the accidental jab at her age. "But Arla-Vlata is under contract to the Federated Commonwealth. I doubt the legendary Snowbird will break contract to help the Dragon."

Ishida nodded. "Normally, you would be correct, but the Skye Rebellion may have changed Arla-Vlata's mind."

"And if not?"

This time it was Kurita who spoke. "In that case, _Tai-sa_ Venga, to quote an old holovid: we will make the Snowbird an offer she can't refuse."


	2. The Sentinel and the Sun

_Sentinel Base Thorin, Ehrenbreitstein_

 _Thorin, Skye March, Federated Commonwealth_

 _19 September 3056_

The helicopter came in at a fast clip over the city of Ehrenbreitstein, then made a sudden turn and dive before flaring and landing at a nearly deserted highway overpass west of the city. Above it, four _Corsair_ aerofighters peeled off and took up orbit over the landing site. The only occupant of the overpass, a man in gray fatigues wearing a fluorescent orange coverall, made a chopping motion with his hand, and the rotors of the helicopter whirled to a stop.

The soldier ran forward, ducking under the still-turning rotors, and undogged the hatch. Before it was finished sliding open, four men wearing immaculate armor bearing the flaming sword of the Davion Brigade of Guards leaped out, their laser rifles at the ready. Behind the phalanx of guards, the Archon Prince of the Federated Commonwealth stepped out of the helicopter. He squinted at the bright sun; the air was warm and pleasant. He returned the coveralled man's sharp salute and followed him to an unmarked hovercar. All six men entered the hovercar and it drove west down the highway.

Victor felt rather well this day, all things considered. The Skye Rebellion was over. The main efforts of Skye units on Glengarry and Chara III were foiled by the Gray Death Legion and the Northwind Highlanders, and support for Free Skye largely evaporated after the assassination of Ryan Steiner on Solaris VII. Only Thorin, where a mishmash of Skye Rangers and assorted militia attacked the Sentinels garrisoned there, had remained.

The hovercar began to go through a narrow pass. This section of Thorin was bisected by two deep glacial valleys. The Valerius River Valley held the city of Ehrenbreitstein; the Valley of Snows was further west and was longer and broader. It held the sprawling Sentinel Base Thorin, a complex of barracks, administrative buildings, training grounds, and airfield. The pass separated the two valleys and was the gateway to the Sentinels' area.

With the exception of the Kell Hounds and a few others, most mercenary units did not hold much interest from Victor Steiner-Davion. He did not hate mercenaries at all, but they were employees, not subjects. The Sentinels themselves were not an exception, but their commander was. Victor had known Sheila Arla-Vlata a long time. They were friends, and that thought sobered Victor's good mood. It was largely because of that friendship that the Sentinels had been attacked by Free Skye, and it was why he was here now.

"Highness?" the driver called back. "We're almost there, sir."

Victor nodded and noticed that the pass was quite beautiful—high mountains with just a dusting of snow atop them, covered in thick fir trees that almost reached the highway. There was little hint of battle. The hovercar rounded a knobby hill into the Valley of Snows, and suddenly, there was all the hints a blind man would need.

On both sides of the highway, burnt-out corpses of BattleMechs lined the road. They were stripped of useful parts—no Tech worthy of the title would pass up an opportunity for spare parts, and the Sentinel techs were known for taking anything not tied down—but it was evident that a tremendous battle had been fought here. The road surface was shattered and cratered by artillery, and the ground on either side was devoid of trees, churned into mud by 'Mechs and tanks. A long furrow sectioned the highway and ended at a deformed metal sphere, the result of a miss with a Gauss Rifle. They passed a huge mound of piled earth, and a miasma hit Victor's nostrils. He nearly gagged.

The mound was a mass grave.

Sentinel Base Thorin lay behind a protective ring of high alpine mountains. Victor's experienced eye could tell that it was these mountains that likely had saved the Sentinels. He could see more plowed earth, barbed wire, and battlements on the mountainsides. They reached the main gate into the base, which was heavily reinforced with wire, sandbags, and ferrocrete. The car was stopped, the occupants unceremoniously ordered out, and then thoroughly searched by grim-faced, armored troopers of the Sentinels Light Infantry. Victor shook his head at his guards, who submitted to the search; so did the Archon Prince. The exhausted troopers were clearly in no mood for protest, not even from arguably the most powerful man in the Inner Sphere. Victor noticed the blackened shell of another hovercar that was crumpled against the ferrocrete wall around the guardhouse. Next to it was a white sheet draped over uneven shapes, stained with brownish blotches.

The hovercar was cleared, and the guards passed it through; it was followed by a Pegasus light hovertank. The base itself looked largely untouched by the siege; only an occasional burned-out building or crater marred the base. He saw twenty 'Mechs drawn up on the parade ground. "Stop here," Victor ordered.

"Sir, the headquarters building is still aways ahead," the driver replied.

"Stop here. We'll walk."

The driver obeyed and pulled to the side of the road. Victor got out, and noticed the Pegasus was stopped as well, its SRM-6 launched pointed directly at the hovercar. The Sentinels were taking no chances, not even with royalty. His guards followed Victor as he crossed the parade ground.

The 'Mechs were in fair to terrible shape. Singed and smashed armor plates littered the ground, and the air was filled with the sights, sounds and smells of techs trying to do repairs. He passed under a _Warhammer,_ its SRM launcher missing, the searchlight starred, and one PPC dangling forlornly from its housing. Next to their 'Mechs, oblivious to the hammering and cursing of the techs, MechWarriors sprawled exhausted. Most were asleep in the soft heat. A few sluggishly ate food from tins. None bothered to do more than glance up at the Archon Prince. Some of the glances were openly hostile. This bothered Victor; the Sentinels had always been friendly—irreverent, perhaps, but friendly. His guards noticed as well, and pulled their ring tighter around their charge.

Victor and his guards reached another sandbagged bunker, this with a Sentinel flag flying over it, along with the banner of the Federated Commonwealth. The sentry popped to attention, gave Victor an academy-sharp salute, and handed Victor a clipboard. "You'll have to sign in, sir." He motioned four other troopers out of the bunker, and once more Victor and his guards were subjected to a search. "Sorry about the runaround, Your Highness," the guard apologized. "The CO thinks that the Skye separatists might try a suicide attack before they pack it in completely."

"Is that what happened at the front gate?"

"I'm not sure, sir. I heard the driver went for a gun. With all due respect, Highness, we've been under siege for two months. No one's screwing around. Sir," the guard added hastily.

"I don't blame you," Victor agreed. "I'm here to see Commander Arla-Vlata."

"Yes sir. Of course, sir. She's expecting you in her office. She said you would know the way."

"I do. Thank you." Victor was waved through with his men, and entered the building. The windows were taped over; one was boarded up. The headquarters building was spartan; few mercenary units could afford a large command staff, and the Sentinels were not one of them. There were more people than he remembered from his last visit, and Victor recalled that the Sentinels had been able to save Duchess Clarice Rosnovski, the ruler of Thorin, and her mostly pro-Federated Commonwealth government before the siege began. He could easily pick out the Sentinels from government officials, though everyone wore the Sentinels' gray fatigues—the mercenaries gave a quick salute, if that, and hurried on, while the civilians stopped to gape at him.

They finally reached the third floor, which was much quieter. Sheila's office was at the end of a short hall. Victor noticed a huge man standing at the entrance. He wore body armor, but did not seem to need it. Victor Steiner-Davion was a short man, but this guard would tower over a tall one. Strapped to his body were no less than three heavy pistols; the Ryonex submachinegun in his dark hands looked like a toy. Victor tried to remember the man's name, and found it. "Good afternoon, Major Vornzel."

"Good afternoon, sir." Vornzel came to attention, which was like a mountain shifting its base. "The guards will have to stay outside, sir."

His guards stiffened at that, but Victor nodded. "No problem." The former Elemental reached out a hand and opened the door; it was closed behind him.

The office did not have much furniture, but it made up for it by the large window and the paneled walls, and the paintings displayed there. The paneling was cheap sheetrock and the paintings prints, but they depicted battle scenes, from Phillippoteaux's famous _Waterloo_ to the critical moment of the Tukayyid campaign at the Pozoristu Mountains. The floor was covered in inexpensive throw rugs that could have used a good shampooing. Several steel file cabinets took up the left wall; two flags, the Sentinels' and the Federated Commonwealth's, took up the right. In the center was a battered oak desk, and behind it, sitting in a swivel chair, was Sheila Arla-Vlata.

It was nearly a year since Victor had seen her last, on Solaris VII, but she was still as lean and tall as ever; she was not even thirty yet, but looked older. Her black hair was still pulled back in its ponytail, and her face was still rather attractive. Normally she would have greeted her ruler, employer, friend and former Nagelring classmate with an easy smile that reached her green eyes, but there was no smile and the eyes were hard. Victor tried to resist looking at her left arm and failed. Her hands were clasped together in a pose he remembered from the Nagelring, but one of the hands was steel and plastic.

"Hello, Victor," she said quietly. Since the end of the Clan War, when they had stood together at the Triad on Tharkad to be decorated, Sheila rarely called him by his titles. Victor rather liked that; there were few people he could be informal with. This time, there was no warmth in the voice.

"Hello, Sheila." He smiled nonetheless. Victor was a good-looking man; he had inherited his mother's blonde hair and his father's gray eyes, and he knew charm.

It did not work. "Where were my reinforcements?" There was no idle chit-chat, just the mailed glove thrown down between them.

Victor understood. "Sheila, I didn't have any reinforcements to send you."

"Harlock's Warriors are less than a jump away on Phecda. The 17th Arcturan Guards are on Wyatt, the 11th Lyran Guards are on Callison, and the 32nd Lyran Guards are on Solaris. They're all two weeks away. It's been two months."

Victor noticed Sheila had not offered a seat, so he stood feet apart, hands behind his back. If she wanted to make this an interrogation, so be it. "Sheila, how much news have you gotten in the past two months?"

Sheila's icy expression faltered a little. "Not much," she admitted. "We heard about the attack on Glengarry right before the ComStar Precentor here declared neutrality. You'd think they would've learned after Tukayyid. After that, it was just Skye propaganda."

"To answer your question, Harlock's Warriors were pinned down by separatists. With the people on Solaris still angry about Ryan Steiner's assassination, I didn't dare move the 32nd. As for the 17th Arcturan and the 11th Lyran, they had to be kept on the Marik frontier. I can't tell you why." _Nor do I want to,_ Victor added to himself bitterly. At the behest of the devious Tormana Liao, Victor's younger brother Peter had nearly touched off a war with House Marik, the Free Worlds League. The crisis was averted, but not before Victor had worried that the Mariks were about to leap across the frontier and cut the Federated Commonwealth in half.

"What about the Northwind Highlanders?" Sheila asked.

"They went to Glengarry to help the Gray Death Legion, then to forestall rebellions on New Kyoto and Skye itself."

"Leaving the Sentinels out of luck, huh?"

Victor shook his head at her. "Now stop that, Sheila. I'm trying to be reasonable, but I _am_ your employer, and, I like to think, your friend. But I don't have to tell you a damn thing." He forestalled what would have been an angry retort with an upraised hand. "But I will. Skye's the capital—we couldn't lose that, or the rebellion would've had legitimacy. New Kyoto's got weapons factories we couldn't lose either. I couldn't abandon one planet. Not _one._ If the Skye separatists got some traction, Marik and/or Liao might throw in with them." He paused, then motioned out the window. "Hell, Sheila. The Sentinels made the Jade Falcons look silly on Koniz last year. I figured your position here was impregnable, and you were letting the Skye Rangers batter themselves to death against the mountains."

"Almost…but not quite." Sheila's voice was drained of venom. She sounded and looked very, very tired.

Victor sat down in the only other chair in the room, opposite her desk. "What happened here?" he asked gently.

Sheila took a deep breath. "The Skye Rangers dropped a RCT on us. They took Ehrenbreitstein on the first day; we didn't contest it. That was on July 18th. They marched up to the Valley of Snows and demanded I either surrender or join them. I told them exactly where they could put that, and to wrap it in razor wire first. We have plenty of food and ammunition here, and I knew they couldn't afford to mount a long siege.

"I was right. They probed for two days, then hit us in two places on the 22nd—Twin Peaks and Mozart's Nose, both southeast of here. We made a stand and stopped them, but just barely. I lost two companies of 'Mechs. I almost committed my training unit." Victor suppressed a shudder. No commander ever wanted to throw raw rookies in training 'Mechs into combat. It was suicide, or desperation.

"Go on," he said.

"They tried again on July 24. The Rangers actually tried a seaborne landing, with paratroopers. Right out of the Normandy playbook; remember that scenario we had to game out at the 'Ring? The Sentinels stopped them on the beach. Poor bastards in the parachutes didn't have a chance. We detected the transports and chewed up the paras with our Hawkslayer antiair tanks. First time I ever saw the seas actually turn red…it was real Book of Revelation stuff." This time Victor _did_ shudder. He could only imagine a carpet of bodies, broken and dead in the surf.

"After that," Sheila continued after a pause, "it was a more formal siege. Artillery harassment, mortars, snipers, that sort of thing. Good thing my window here faces away from the mountains. One of my battalion commanders got shot through the shoulder; one inch to the left and the sniper would've blown his head off. Then things got interesting. They must've heard about the Highlanders taking Skye, because they got desperate—but so did we. Half our food spoiled, because some damn fool AFFC quartermaster turned off the refrigeration unit. We have a lot of refugees in here too. We were down to three days' rations, and the separatists were out of time. We attacked on September 11. So did they. We got started at 2100 hours. We finished at 0830. They threw everything they had left at us. Suicide bombers. Hovercars packed with explosives. Even a human wave infantry attack. A human wave! In this day and age! Human bodies against 'Mechs. You saw the mound, I suppose."

"I nearly threw up," Victor said.

"You're doing better than we were. We were all puking. Even Maysa wasn't smiling after that. They finally broke, and it's been mopping up ever since. We finally secured the planet two days ago—we hope."

"The Sentinels won." It was an obvious statement, Victor thought, but Sheila was acting as if her regiment had suffered a major defeat.

"Yes. We won. And then we get this." She threw a piece of paper across her desk at him. Victor did not pick it up. He knew what was on it. In a small way, he was relieved that Sheila already knew. It would have been hard—and given her mood, possibly physically dangerous—to break the news to her now, personally.

"You cancelled our contract, Victor. All that blood we spilled here—ours and theirs—was for nothing." The venom was back in her voice now, with a vengeance. Victor knew Sheila's temper, and it was not long from exploding. "You know, the Skye Rangers gave us rather generous surrender terms. If I'd know the AFFC would yank the rug out from under us, I would've accepted them."

Victor sighed. "I'm sorry—"

Then the explosion came. Sheila shot out of her chair, which spun crazily behind her. She nearly lunged across the desk before she caught herself. "You're _sorry?!_ Sorry doesn't do it, Victor! I have nearly five hundred dead between my regiment and the loyalists. Twice that wounded! Now I'm supposed to go out and tell everyone—including the fucking widows, widowers, and orphans, mind! 'Hey, guess what? Prince Victor's sorry. Everything's just capital now.'"

Victor withstood the vocal gale, counted to five, and resumed speaking. A few years previously, he would have gotten right back in Sheila's face, but four years of ruling the largest interstellar realm since the Star League taught him patience. "I'm sorry, Sheila, but I didn't cancel your contract. Not personally. Ryan Steiner pushed that because he thought the Sentinels' posting to Thorin was a personal insult."

"That's fine. Ryan's dead. Reinstate the contract."

"I can't."

"Wait a second. I thought you were the most powerful man in the Inner Sphere." Sheila snorted. "You mean the most powerful man can't wiggle a finger and produce about 22 million C-Bills a month? You pay twice that to the 12th Vegan Rangers."

"The 12th also has four regiments. The Sentinels have just about two. The budget's already been drawn up for next year. The economy's not in great shape, Sheila. Inflation's rising in the Federated Suns and the Lyrans are trying to climb out of their first bad recession since the end of the Fourth Succession War. Money isn't limitless. If it makes you feel better, Tormana Liao's pissed at me too. I had to cut Free Capella's budget as well."

"Fuck him. He doesn't have a few thousand mouths to feed."

Victor resisted a smile, which would be rather inadvisable. The angrier Sheila got, the filthier her mouth became. He paused for a moment, because he did not want to bring up the other reason the Sentinels' contract was in trouble. "Sheila, you also forgot to notify the Department of Mercenary Relations this year."

Sheila turned red, but in embarrassment. Every fiscal year, a mercenary unit had to confirm with the DMR that they would be around for another year and seeking a new contract. For units with three or four-year retainers, this was not necessary. The Sentinels, however, habitually signed one-year contracts; many mercenary units did this rather than be trapped in a bad contract if political winds shifted. If a unit failed to notify the DMR, the AFFC would assume the contract was to be terminated and planned accordingly. It was good for both parties: the AFFC could begin seeking another mercenary unit to replace the latter, and the departing mercenaries would be able to begin looking for employment elsewhere, while still finishing out the remaining months of the fiscal year. Mistakes happened, however, and the Sentinels were hardly the first unit who simply forgot to file. "I was a little busy," she said in a low voice. "With the Rebellion and all." It was a lame excuse, and both knew it; Sheila could have notified the DMR months before the Skye Rebellion broke out.

"I know," Victor said in understanding. "Look, give me three months. We can get a new contract negotiated and it'll be fine."

"The Sentinels don't have three months. We'll fall apart by then."

"What about loyalty?" Victor asked. "These people love you, Sheila."

"They love me because I win and I keep them well-paid in the process. You've never been a mercenary, Victor. We sacrifice a lot for it. Loyalty punches out when there's kids to feed and a family 'Mech to maintain. You don't even carry money in your pocket."

Victor had to concede that point. Money was never a personal issue for him, and he struggled to understand what that would be like. "The Kell Hounds wouldn't fall apart in three months."

Sheila turned her chair to stare out the window. "No, the Kells wouldn't. Morgan Kell would tell them to tighten their belts, and they would. If nothing else, he could dip into his personal fortune. I don't have that man's force of personality, nor his money." She looked back at him. "Victor, two things hold the Sentinels together. One, duty, and two, money. Oh, someone like Maysa Bari or Senefa Malthus would eat dirt before they'd leave the regiment, but not everyone is like them. Some of these guys and gals joined because they wanted to make more than they'd ever make in a House unit. Some joined because they hate the Clans, and some joined because they love fighting. Hell, I know of one or two who joined because their old House regiment wouldn't let them grow their hair long." She sniffed a laugh at that. "But you can't eat duty, loyalty or hate. What little fortune I had after the Clan War I spent rebuilding the Sentinels. I can't whip up another."

"Then," Victor said with a heavy sigh, "the Sentinels will be leaving the Federated Commonwealth." It was the only solution to the Sentinels' problem. Neither one of them wanted to say it, but Victor knew it had to be said. "Where will you go?"

"I don't know. None of the Periphery places have the money, and I wouldn't work for the Taurians no matter what they paid us. Pretty sure Sun-Tzu Liao won't hire us either…he's probably still pissed at me for Outreach back in '51." Sheila rubbed the metal knuckles on her left hand. "I'll try to stay away from any contracts that would be against the FedCom. But I can't promise anything. I'm going to miss working for you."

Victor stood, and Sheila followed. "Don't be a stranger, Sheila. You'll always have a home here, as long as I'm Archon Prince." He moved to shake hands, but it ended up in an embrace. She was nearly a foot taller than he was, and he ended up with his face nearly in her breasts. When she tried to draw back, he held on closer. "No, no, this is fine. I can stay here for awhile."

"I'm a married woman, you little shit." He drew away from her, and they shared a grin, though Sheila's eyes shined with tears. He might be Archon Prince and she was just a mercenary commander, but they were still friends, and Victor let his friends get away with a lot. Victor wanted to stay and smile and laugh about old times, the good times, but there were other units who needed his attention, and a realm to put back together; Sheila had a regiment to command. So he just gave her a short, friendly nod and walked out the door.

Victor did not want Sheila to know he had lied to her face.


	3. The Snowbird Plans

_Sentinel Base Thorin_

 _Thorin, Skye March, Federated Commonwealth_

 _19 September 3056_

Sheila watched out her window as Victor's hovercar pulled away across the parade ground. She could see rain begin to roll in from the sea. "Just go ahead and rain on me," she whispered. "You might as well."

"Always talk to yourself?" She spun around in the chair lazily to face her husband, Maximillian Canis-Vlata. He stood in the open doorway, then moved aside for Senefa Malthus. Vornzel shut the door behind them.

Just seeing the two of them cheered Sheila up a little. Max was still the skinny, tall man she married; he did not have Victor's classic, handsome features, and in fact he was a little plain. Sheila did not care. She loved him, and over the five years since they had wed, their love only got deeper. Various campaigns, raising an adopted daughter, and the bills proved Sheila's father right: young people married out of lust, but remained married out of love. She simply did not know what she would do without him, if she could find someone else in the entire Inner Sphere who could put up with her, and hoped she would never find out. He was now the regimental S-4, with the rank of Major, who handled the Sentinels' logistics. Max acted as Sheila's filter and her sounding board in the field, and he was content to be in her shadow.

Senefa was a different story. The first Clan MechWarrior to defect to the Inner Sphere, she retained a price on her head worth an instant Bloodname competition slot for the Clan warrior who could kill her. Several tried; they were dead. More had decided to join her instead, disaffected with their Clans—either freeborn Clanfolk who would never be promoted or were tired of the constant prejudice against them, prisoners of war refused exchange, or even Bloodnamed warriors disgusted by the actions of their Clan during the war and since. Senefa offered nothing but a 'Mech, three meals a day, and the opportunity to die gloriously. Officially, they were known as the Clan Expatriate Unit, but everyone called them Clan Sentinel. They were outfitted with as much Clan equipment as the Sentinels could beg, salvage or steal; there were only fifteen of them, but they fought like twice that number, for they had nothing to lose. Sheila envied Senefa the Clanswoman's ability to simply ignore fatigue and pain. Though they looked enough alike to be sisters, Sheila always felt dumpy next to Senefa.

Max took the chair while Senefa perched on one corner of the desk. "What did Victor say?" he asked.

"What we figured he'd say. It's out of his hands. Ryan Steiner fucked us. Sorry, Senefa." Sheila apologized to the Clanswoman, who winced at her profanity. It might have been five years since Senefa defected to the Sentinels, but she still lived as Clan. "And honestly, so did I. I didn't get in that paperwork fast enough."

"We're going to lose our contract over that?" Max asked incredulously. "Hell, I don't think your dad ever got his paperwork in on time, Sheila."

"It's politics, Max. That's all it is." Sheila gritted her teeth. "I'd like to meet Ryan Steiner's assassin. I'd like to give that son of a bitch a medal."

"So we are alone," Senefa said.

"Pretty much. Technically, we have until the end of the year to leave Thorin. That gives us some time, at least."

Senefa moved off the desk and stood next to Max, arms folded. "Then where do we go? I would not wish to be employed by the Free Worlds League, but that seems our only option, quiaff?"

"Marik might not take us after that raid we pulled in Shiro III last year. Houses get pissed when you steal 'Mechs."

"Forget Liao," Max said. "I don't want to work for that lunatic Sun-Tzu. The Periphery doesn't have the money or they're crazier than Sun-Tzu. Doesn't leave many options…unless we give Kurita a try."

"I thought they did not like mercenaries," Senefa said, sounding unsure.

"Old Takashi didn't," Max replied, "but Theodore might be a different story. He was friendly enough to us on Luthien after Kagoshima." He noticed Sheila rubbing the metal knuckles of her left hand, which he instantly knew was a nervous habit. "Sheila? You know something we don't?"

"I don't know," Sheila said. "Remember right after we secured Ehrenbreitstein, the Kurita trade minister came to the base? He wasn't just calling to reassure us he didn't collaborate. Instead he gave me this." She reached into the desk, pulled out a sheet of paper, and handed it over to Max. It read:

 _12 September 3056_

 _Draconis Combine Trade Mission_

 _17-21 Theodore Kurita Street, Solaris City_

 _Solaris VII, Skye March, Federated Commonwealth_

 _To: Commander Sheila Arla-Vlata_

 _c/o Sentinel Headquarters Thorin, Sentinel Base Thorin_

 _Thorin, Skye March, Federated Commonwealth_

 _Commander:_

 _With the recent conclusion of your contract with the Federated Commonwealth, and regarding the recent difficulties your regiment has had with certain nobles in that realm, the Dragon is curious as to what the Sentinels plan next._

 _Before the Sentinels should negotiate a contract with any of the other Great Houses or minor holdings of the Inner Sphere, the Combine is prepared to offer a proposition, one much too delicate to be entrusted to writing. If you are willing to discuss this, please let our trade minister on Thorin know. He will forward your request to the necessary contacts. Please reply no later than the end of September._

 _Your humble servant,_

 _Chu-sa Isoroku Ishida_

 _Draconis Combine Mustered Soldiery_

"I do not like it," Senefa pronounced. "It is too ambiguous, too much of—what is the phrase? Ah. Too much of a 'shot in the dark.'"

"I don't know," Max said. "You don't ask a regiment to halt contract negotiations unless you're prepared to offer a bigger deal. I agree that it's too secretive, but if Kurita's looking to hire mercs after a few decades of wanting to kill us on sight, they probably want to keep it quiet. Still, they could've just said 'contract.'" He tossed the paper back on the desk.

"If it's a shot in the dark," Sheila stated, "it may be the only shot we have." She reached for the paper and looked it over once more. "Max, you and I will pursue this lead. Senefa, I'd like you to go to Outreach."

"Outreach? I am hardly the one to search out new contracts, Sheila."

"I don't want to put all my eggs in one basket, and people will deal honestly with you, Senefa. You are very good at seeing through bullshit. And you're one of three people I trust."

"Who are the other two?"

"One is sitting next to you, and the other is God."

Senefa smiled. "In that case, I will go to Outreach immediately."

"Tomorrow morning will work. We've got the commencement ceremony today." Sheila checked her watch as the rain began to fall. "Good thing we decided to hold the ceremony indoors. I need to change clothes."

"As do I. Vornzel and I will see you over there." Senefa came to attention, saluted, and walked out, leaving the door open. Vornzel glanced into the office, and Sheila pointed towards Senefa. Vornzel gave her a small smile and walked to the Clanswoman. As they turned down the hall for the elevator, Sheila saw Vornzel put an arm around his lover.

"The ceremony starts in an hour, right?" Sheila asked.

Max levered himself out of the chair and cracked his back with a wince. "Yeah."

"Good. I need a shower."

"You took one this morning."

She faced him. "I _need_ a _shower._ "

Max smiled. "The things I'm ordered to do." He put his arm around her waist.

She kissed him on the cheek. "I'm hardly a thing."


	4. Rumors of My Death

_Sentinel Base Thorin_

 _Thorin, Skye March, Federated Commonwealth_

 _19 September 3058_

Twenty cadets, dressed in the standard olive drab fatigues issued to the Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth's mercenary regiments, stood inside the ferrocrete, slab-sided hangar. The rain was now coming down hard, and lakes of mud appeared in shell craters. Lightning snapped at the mountains to the east and thunder rolled over the Valley of Snows. The thunder was briefly drowned out by manmade thunder, as two _Stuka_ heavy fighters rolled down the runway, their blue exhausts vaporizing raindrops in their wake. Both fighters lifted off into the low, gray sky and were swallowed by the clouds. Despite the siege officially being lifted and peace returned to Thorin, the Sentinels took no chances and maintained a combat air patrol.

The roar of the fighters faded into the patter of rain. Cynthia Hotz turned to the woman next to her. "What did you say?"

"I said, I wondered how long we're supposed to stay out here. At least we're dry, I guess." Janice da Sousa tended to look at the bright side of life.

Hotz nodded absently. The two were friends, although they were opposites: Hotz's fiery red hair reflected her personality, while Sousa's black hair seemed to be a reflection of her easygoing patience. Hotz's pale skin showed she came from a cold planet with little sun, and when she acknowledged a deity, it was usually when she had done something wrong. Sousa's skin was dark from a desert world, and she was a devout Mormon. Hotz turned to the towheaded man next to her. "Jacen. What's the weather supposed to be like later?"

Jacen Lefar seemed to be stunned that a woman would even speak to him. "Uh, it's supposed to clear up, I think."

"Good. I have a date after this. I don't want anything to screw it up." She turned away and instantly forgot Lefar. Sousa glanced at him, an eyebrow raised. Lefar shrugged; he was used to it.

" _Cadet Company! Form into your cadres! Double time, be quick!"_ Marion Rhialla's voice cracked across the hangar. There were rumors during the siege that Rhialla had been killed, but to the cadets' consternation, those rumors were greatly exaggerated. Then again, as Hotz was fond of saying, only the good died young. The cadets instantly fell silent, and drew up in five lines of four cadets each; some hurried into ranks from various parts of the hangar. David Nelson and Betty Reese fell in next to Sousa, Lefar and Hotz. Reese shook her head at Nelson. "They don't let cadets into the Snowbirds, David! You know that as well as any of us!"

"It's possible, that's all!" Nelson shot back.

" _Reese! Nelson!"_ Rhialla had not moved from the head of the cadet company, but her voice hit like a physical blow nonetheless. "Shut the fuck up or I'll tear off your arms and beat you to death with the stumps!" She snapped to attention, and the cadets quickly emulated. Rhialla executed a parade-ground about face. "Company, forward…march!"

The cadets grimaced and winced against the rain, which seemed to have reserved its true violence for this very moment as they marched into it. Rhialla stayed at their head, and showed not the slightest notice of the weather. She was retired from active service now, but retirement bored her and she had returned to run the Sentinels' training battalion. During the siege, she was pressed back into service—something she was much too enthusiastic about—but now she was back in charge of the cadets. Her once attractive features were worn down, as rain and sun wears down the rock face of a mountain, and her hair was now completely gray, but Marion Rhialla was still fearsome on the battlefield and still wore the same size uniform as she had when she was a cadet. She snapped out march orders and stomped through the muddy puddles, and soon her uniform was as soaked and mud-spattered as the cadets. Rhialla fell out of line to let the company pass, then turned and resumed the march right alongside Janice da Sousa.

For reasons unknown, Sousa incurred Rhialla's fearsome wrath the moment she stepped off the DropShip on Thorin. No one knew exactly why. Some thought it was because Sousa came from an old moneyed Lyran family, while Rhialla had spent her life eking out a bare existence in mercenary units. Others thought that Sousa's patience attracted Rhialla's rage like a moth to a flame. Others held that Rhialla just liked to find one cadet and break them to show the others. The problem was that Sousa refused to break.

Rhialla watched Sousa like a hawk, but the other woman merely stared straight ahead as they marched. Unfortunately, this meant she missed the slick patch of grassy mud that the other cadets managed to sidestep. Her feet slipped for a moment, and involuntarily her left hand shot out for the nearest handhold—which happened to be Major Marion Rhialla. Sousa recognized her mistake quickly and dropped her arm back to her side, but the damage was done. "Sousa!" Rhialla barked. "Watch where the fuck you're going, you stumblefooted dipshit!" Sousa nodded. Rhialla instantly was in her face, still keeping in time with the marching cadence. "Aren't you forgetting something, _boot?"_ The last word was delivered in a low, insulting tone less than an inch from Sousa's left ear.

"I'm sorry, ma'am!" Sousa shouted.

"I can't fucking _hear_ you, boot!"

"Hey, Major, lighten up! We're graduating!" Nelson yelled from the other line.

Rhialla's eyes blazed. She stepped between the lines and tore into Nelson, forgetting Sousa—which was Nelson's intention.

After a few more minutes of soaking rain, squishing mud and screaming Rhialla, the cadets went down a long ferrocrete ramp as wide as a six-lane highway. At the bottom, Rhialla roared at them to halt. Before them stood twin blast doors the height of a four-story building, and a single man, wearing an overcoat, rain boots, and a wide-brimmed hat.

"Cadet Company 3056," Max Canis-Vlata intoned solemnly, "once you pass these doors, you will become Sentinels. This is not a choice made lightly. You have seen what modern war is like. Some of you had never seen it before; others had, but perhaps not as ugly as the Siege of Thorin. Few of us have. Like Giuseppe Garibaldi declared a thousand years ago, the Sentinels can offer nothing but forced marches, hunger, and death. This is often the life of a mercenary, and the Sentinels are no exception. Especially now that we do not have a contract."

This sent gasps and shock through the cadets. There had been rumors, but no one believed them. The Sentinels had worked for the Federated Commonwealth and its forebears, the Federated Suns and Lyran Commonwealth, since the unit was formed in 3025. None of the cadets expected it to be easy, but the Sentinels seemed free of the contract woes that haunted other mercenary units. Now that was gone.

"With that in mind," Max continued, "now's your last chance. You can still leave. Break ranks and march back up that ramp. There's an officer waiting there with discharge papers and a one-way ticket off Thorin to Galatea. No one will blame you if you do."

There were some mutterings in the ranks and shared looks. At a glance from Max, Rhialla bit her lip and remained silent. One or two took a step, then quickly went back into ranks. It was not a fear of Rhialla. The cadets remained out of one of the oldest reasons of soldiers for millennia: they did not want to let down the people next to them. Months of hard training and the siege—even if they were little more than spectators to it—had changed them.

Max smiled. "Well, all right then." He reached into his overcoat and pulled out a comlink. "This is Sentinel Three. No one stepped out. Open the doors."


	5. The Watchers On the Wall

_BattleMech Bay One, Sentinel Base Thorin_

 _Thorin, Skye March, Federated Commonwealth_

 _19 September 3056_

The doors opened with surprising speed, and closed behind the cadets. The cavernous 'Mech bay was partially cleared for the ceremony, and was warm. The cadets filed in and stood at attention between ranks of chairs, which were filled with every Sentinel warrior that could be spared. More sat on the four heavy and assault 'Mechs that stood line-abreast behind a curtain-draped stage, flanked by the battle flags of the Sentinels' seven battalions. A wooden podium, on which was mounted the crest of the Sentinels, was at the center of the stage.

There were plenty of people talking, and the babel of noise was enough that David Nelson risked looking over his shoulder at Betty Reese. "I tell you, that Snowbirds slot is mine."

"Bullshit. No, it's not," Reese hissed back. "I told _you,_ they don't let cadets into the Snowbirds—"

" _Attention on deck!"_ Rhialla shouted. _"Commanders present!"_

Not only did Nelson and Reese go quiet, so did everyone else in the bay. Everyone now stood at attention. From a side door came the seven battalion commanders of the Sentinels RCAT. They each took up a position in front of their respective flag. One or two still wore bandages or limped. There was a short pause, and then Sheila Arla-Vlata followed, striding to the stage.

The cadets had all seen Sheila before; some had met her, as Sheila visited the cadet companies when she could. None had ever seen her in her dress uniform. It was white with blue trim, a dark blue hourglass that started just below her breasts and flared out to become a skirt, though she wore pants beneath it, and polished black boots. A blue cape was bound at her throat with the Federated Commonwealth Medal of Honor, while her rank tabs gleamed with twin diamonds. Over her left breast were two rows of campaign ribbons, with more medals below those. Two swords were jammed into her belt on her left hip. Half the commanders and a number of the warriors wore those swords as well; the cadets knew the story of those. Only those who had survived the legendary Siege of Kagoshima were allowed to wear those swords.

Sheila walked to the podium, turned and nodded. "Warriors, be seated. Cadets, stand easy." The warriors took their seats, while the cadets settled into at ease position. "Welcome to the commencement ceremony for the Sentinels Cadet Class of 3056." Applause began somewhere behind her, and rose to a deafening clatter. The cadets looked around, some with expressions of surprise, others with blushes, a few with broad, confident grins. To the Sentinels, the cadets were a welcome sight, as they represented replacements now desperately needed. Even that would be not enough, Sheila reflected to herself. There would need to be new hires off Outreach, or even from the less reputable Mercenary's Star, Galatea. They would not get a welcome ceremony; they would be lucky to get more than a welcoming handshake when they reached their platoon or lance. For now, these young men and women would have to do.

Sheila asked them to bow their heads for the benediction, read by a Roman Catholic priest from Ehrenbreitstein. Each year, the Sentinels rotated the faiths. The priest made the Sign of the Cross and said a prayer for Sentinels present and non-present, living and dead, old and new, no matter their creed, color, sex, orientation or denomination. As he spoke in a clear voice, Sheila looked at the cadets again. A few were younger than herself, some older, but she felt as old as Rhialla. She wondered how many of the cadets would be present next year; for that matter, she wondered if the Sentinels would exist at all next year. The weight of command felt heavier than ever. Somehow she had to command these people in combat, which she knew she could do, and feed and clothe them, which she was not so sure about.

Sheila abruptly realized the priest had finished the benediction and was staring at her. She hurriedly thanked him and returned to the podium, feeling the proper fool. She cleared her throat. "As with other units and academies around the Inner Sphere, the Sentinels award those who have consistently led their cadet company in scores, or shown certain qualities that make them stand out among their peers.

"The Sentinels select two cadets. The Calla Bighorn-Vlata Award, named for my father and the founder of the Sentinels, is given to the cadet that shows the best all-around qualities of a leader—not the least of which is tenacity. This cadet immediately receives a promotion to lance commander instead of just the normal warrior's position.

"The Tooriu Kku Memorial Award goes to the cadet who shows determination, confidence, a willingness to help other cadets, an ability to think of unique solutions, and…in my opinion…a marked lack of good sense." Sheila paused to let the laughter subside. "That cadet will be selected to join one of the Sentinels' independent battalions, either the Gamma Independent Combined Arms Team, or the Snowbirds Special Missions Combined Arms Team." Sheila watched the cadets exchange glances and whisper to each other. The Snowbirds were the most prestigious battalion in the regiment, formed from the remnants of Sheila's old raiding battalion from the Clan War. Gamma took on the traditions of the defunct 719th Striker Regiment, absorbed by the Sentinels during the Clan War; one of those traditions was testing new modifications and designs. Sentinel personnel only half-joked when they called Gamma's 'Mech bay the Mad Scientist Lab.

Sheila glanced down at her notes, then held up a plaque. "The Calla Bighorn-Vlata Award goes to Cadet—now Lance Commander—Janice da Sousa."

Shock went through the cadets, even as the Sentinels stood and applauded. Sousa herself went pale and blinked furiously, as if she did not believe what she had heard—which she didn't. Then she was propelled to the aisle by the cadets around her with cheers and slaps on the back. She shakily walked to the stage and got on the dais. She stared up at Sheila with wide eyes that reminded the older woman of a kitten confronted with a pit bull, then shook hands in a daze.

"Who…who recommended me?" Sousa stammered. The award was given out only on the recommendation of a senior officer.

"Marion Rhialla!" Sheila shouted over the din of cheers, applause and stomped feet. She pinned the rank tabs to Sousa's bare collars; each was red, the color of MechWarriors, and surmounted by the twin chevrons of a lance commander. She then handed Sousa a Sentinels patch, to be worn on the left shoulder.

Sheila turned and held up her metal hand; the noise subsided. She then turned to the battalion commanders behind her. "Which of you requires a lance commander? I have found one." The Sentinels had only adopted the awards after the Clan War, and as a result, this ritual was something of a mishmash of Inner Sphere common tradition and Clan ceremonies.

John Kennedy stepped forward. Unlike his namesake, Kennedy was a man with the build of a professional wrestler, and sported a wide, red handlebar mustache. He had joined the Sentinels after the Clan War, and rose through the ranks out of sheer skill. "Beta Battalion's 2nd Company requires one." He held out two more patches in one beefy hand: one bore the phoenix emblem of Beta Battalion, the other a fanged white rabbit. "Lance Commander Janice da Sousa," Kennedy said to her with a grin, "you now command the Kwik Killers."

Applause erupted again. Sousa returned to her place in the ranks, staring dazedly at the plaque and the three patches.

Kennedy resumed his seat, and Sheila returned to the gathered men and women. She held up the second plaque. "I should mention that what I say after I award this is traditional, and mandated by Tooriu Kku's widow." She took a breath and closed her eyes just for a moment, remembering Tooriu the man with the easy smile, the one man who never gave up no matter the odds, the man taken unceremoniously from the Sentinels by an anonymous artillery shell, the man who had been her first lover. "The Tooriu Kku Memorial Award goes to David Nelson. And may God have mercy on your soul."

A great whoop from Nelson drowned out the reaction of the crowd. He jogged out of the ranks and towards the podium. Sheila was once more reminded of Tooriu Kku, as both men shared a similar build; she remembered that Nelson played fullback on his American rules high school football team. Nelson took the dais in one jump, shook Sheila's hand so hard she feared it would come off, and grinned at her dementedly. Sheila finally pried her hand loose and pinned the single chevrons of a MechWarrior to Nelson's collars. Once more, she held up her hand for silence, then turned again to her commanders. "Which unit requires this warrior?"

A woman stood from underneath the Snowbirds' flag. She wore the same uniform and swords as Sheila, but her black hair was hidden behind a headdress of eagle feathers that formed a fan behind her head. Tessya Blackthorn took her Sioux heritage seriously; each feather represented a 'Mech she had destroyed. "The Snowbirds' Alpha Recon requires this warrior." Nelson abruptly turned from Sheila and Blackthorn, pointed at Reese, and let out a " _HA!"_ at the top of his lungs. Reese's jaw was already nearly on her chest, and the bay dissolved in laughter. Blackthorn, who to this point was as stoic as a statue, suddenly laughed. "Well, he'll fit right in." After Sheila awarded Nelson the plaque and a Sentinels patch, Blackthorn handed him the diving snow owl patch of the Snowbirds and the casting sorceress one of Alpha Recon. Nelson bounded back to his place in the ranks, holding the plaque above his head like a championship belt.

Sheila returned to the podium. "Cadets, attention!" Her voice was not as loud as Rhialla's, but carried nonetheless. The cadets came to attention. Sheila motioned to five people on either side of the podium. Four wore the collar tabs of majors, and each held five cloth-wrapped bundles. The fifth—who had used Nelson's impromptu victory march to get in position—wore the single diamond of a lieutenant commander; she also wore the same uniform and swords as Sheila, but her uniform trim and cape were red, the same color as her close-cropped hair. Maysa Bari spun on one foot and faced the four majors.

"Uniform party, advance!" She once more spun on one foot and led the four warriors—two men and two women—forward. She spread her arms wide twice: at each motion, two of the majors turned and began handing out the cloth bundles in sharp motions. The cadets opened up the uniforms: instead of the olive drab of FedCom issue, they were the gray of the Sentinels.

Once the uniform party marched out, Sheila raised her voice again. "Fellow Sentinels," she intoned, "we have tested these cadets and not found them wanting. I ask you now, do you accept the judgement of their instructors and allow these cadets to become Sentinels—to be, as our namesake, the watchers on the wall, the watchers against aggression of any kind, from any quarter, for the glory and honor of this regiment? What say you, Sentinel warriors?"

"YES." The word was spoken as one.

"Then, by the power invested in me as the commander of this regiment, I proclaim them to be cadets no longer, but warriors—men and women of the Sentinels!"

"HOOAH, HOOAH, HOOAH!" the Sentinels shouted, three times, according to custom, then the shouts dissolved into clapping, cheers, ribald catcalls, yells, and above all, the terrifying screeching of former Jade Falcon MechWarriors among Clan Sentinel's ranks.

Maysa Bari ran back down the aisle, turned to the audience, and yelled "Sentinels! _Let's party!"_

All became happy bedlam, and for awhile, everyone present forgot the siege, the casualties, and the fact that the Sentinels were warriors without employment.


	6. First Day On the Job

_Sentinel Base Thorin_

 _Thorin, Skye March, Federated Commonwealth_

 _20 September 3056_

Janice da Sousa's head throbbed. She half-staggered down the steps to Beta Battalion's underground 'Mech bay. She fervently wished she had told a few people to get lost instead of accepting yet another Timbiqui Dark beer. Now she was dealing with a brutal hangover…and had to report to duty.

Sousa walked into the cavernous 'Mech bay and instantly regretted it. The place was alive with noise as techs got down to the necessary work of repairing dozens of battle-damaged machines; the sounds of rivet guns, pounding hammers, and hissing laser saws seemed to find a permanent place behind her eyes. Sousa pushed on, willing herself to keep going. A whine of heavy servomotors joined the other noises as a _Stalker_ successfully raised one leg and set it down. She was so intent on watching the _Stalker_ that Sousa failed to notice the myomer cables that snaked out of the inspection panels of a _Shadow Hawk,_ and promptly tripped over them. Powerful hands reached out and caught her before she could fall, and Sousa looked up to thank her rescuer.

He was a big man who took care of himself: thick muscles bulged out of the grease-stained coveralls. His black hair gave him away as a MechWarrior, however; it was cut in the Steiner fashion, with sides shaved close to permit better contact with the neurohelmet. He let go of her and saluted. "Sorry, Lance Commander. Didn't recognize you at first."

She returned the salute and smiled. Sousa read his nametape: _Ayl._ "That's all right, MechWarrior Ayl. Can you tell me where the Kwik Killers are laagered?"

"No problem, ma'am. I'm in that lance." Now he held out a beefy hand. "John Ayl."

Sousa remembered the name now. Ayl was the senior MechWarrior in the lance. In the absence of a lance commander, Ayl commanded the Kwik Killers. She hoped he did not resent her. Most senior MechWarriors ended up as lance commanders. "A pleasure, Mr. Ayl."

He smiled at her broadly. Sousa wondered if there was a Clan missing an Elemental somewhere; everything about Ayl was broad. "I'll introduce you to the rest of the lance."

"Thank you, Mr. Ayl—"

"Please, ma'am, call me John."

"All right, John." Sousa scrambled to catch up to him. "Look, this appointment is a bit of a surprise to all of us, and—"

Ayl suddenly stopped and turned to face her. "Miss da Sousa, can you command us in a fight? Really command us?"

Sousa paused for a moment. This was something that nagged at her, from the moment Commander Arla-Vlata handed her the rank tabs. Could she lead four people and 'Mechs into combat? What would it be like? Simulators were one thing. _Stop it,_ she thought. _You were trained for this. Rhialla rode you like a bad horse, and yet she recommended you._ "Yes," she said firmly. "Yes, I can."

"Good. We were hoping we wouldn't get some candy-ass." He slapped her on the shoulder, which felt like being hit by a steam shovel. He began walking across the bay again.

"What was your last commander like?" Sousa asked.

"Don't have to use past tense, ma'am," Ayl corrected. "Bob Anderson's still around. He retired, though. Right before this whole Skye shit started. Figured he was getting too old."

"Then you commanded the Kwik Killers during the siege?"

Ayl shrugged. "Yep. No big deal. Lots of lances down to three 'Mechs. I didn't do a whole lot, to be honest. We just got in at the end, there—Beta/1 was held in reserve. By the way, we usually just call ourselves the Killers."

Sousa smiled. "Where did they get that name?"

"Beats me. The lance has been around since before the Clan War. Something about a killer rabbit—that's where the bunny with fangs came from—and the name stuck, I guess. I joined up in '52 after the Clan War was over. I was on Solaris, trying to convince myself that I wouldn't be stuck in the midcards forever, then said the hell with it and went merc. Took me forever to get to the Sentinels, and by the time I did, the war was over."

Sousa nodded. "What's the lance's condition?" She felt like she was interrogating the man, but these were things she figured she needed to know.

"About time you asked that. Like I said, we were in reserve, so aside from some minor armor repairs, we're in good shape." He laughed. "Matter of fact, about the toughest action we got was fending off other units' techs from stealing parts. These guys would seriously steal a rose off their grandmother's grave…ah, here we are."

They reached about halfway down the bay. The sides were notched into ferrocrete walls, and the Kwik Killers occupied one notch with four 'Mechs. Sousa could not help but smile wider when she saw the _Wolverine_ parked there; that was hers, and it was in pristine condition. The _Thunderbolt_ with numerous dents and scratches was probably Ayl's, a suspicion confirmed when she saw the words _Ayl's Aggravator_ painted on the large laser barrel— _no,_ she corrected herself with a look at the much wider bore and thicker barrel, _that's a Gauss Rifle._ She wondered who the _Cataphract_ and whatever the last 'Mech was; it looked like a _Whitworth,_ except for the barrels sticking out of areas where barrels should not be sticking out of.

"Hideo! Sharek! The new lance commander's here." Ayl waved over two people. Sousa sized them up, knowing she would be depending on them for her life. Hideo was obviously the short man with a unruly mop of black hair. He looked confused, nervous, and lost. "Hideo Masuta," he mumbled, and looked at his feet.

The other was also short, with skin darker than Sousa's tanned complexion. Her curly black hair was also cropped short, and her expression was one of cold disdain. She wiped her hands on an already greasy jacket, one that bore several patches of various units. After she merely stared at Sousa, Ayl cleared his throat and said, "This is Sharek Halberd. That's not her real name, I guess, and—"

"And you'll never learn my real name, either." Halberd surprised Sousa by sticking out a hand. The handshake was firm but brief. "Good to meet you, Lance Commander. If you need me, just yell." Then she tossed off a salute and walked back to her 'Mech.

Ayl scratched the back of his head. "Don't mind her, ma'am. Sharek is hard as rock, but she's solid in a fight. Sneaky as a frigging _Javelin._ " He pointed at the _Whitworth._ "That's hers. She's modded the shit out of it. No LRMs. That baby packs a RAMTech 1200X ER-Large Laser in the right torso, and two Intek mediums in the left. There's a Beagle Probe in there somewhere too, and it's got a bigger engine. Halberd likes to tinker. The techs aren't sure if they love her or hate her, but Master Tech Caii wants to mod all the Sentinels' _Whitworths_ into 'Halberd Specials.'"

"I see," Sousa said, impressed. "Ah…Hideo?" Masuta had been silent the whole time, as if trying to blend in with the floor. "Is your _Cataphract_ modded?"

"No, ma'am. I joined the Sentinels only a few months ago. It's strac."

"What he means is, the techs haven't gotten around to doing something with it." Ayl clapped Masuta on the back, elicting a gasp and a small smile. "Better not get used to that AC/5, Hideo; I bet the Master Tech's going to swap it out for a PPC or something." Ayl thumbed at his _Thunderbolt._ "Mine's a standard mod for Sentinel _T-Bolts._ A Gauss Rifle instead of a large laser, with a LRM-10 instead of a LRM-15. I can rock 'n' roll in that baby. How about your _Wolvie?"_

Sousa shook her head. "It's a standard WVR-6R. AC/5, SRM-6, couple of medium lasers."

Ayl laughed. He seemed to like to laugh. "Not for long. The techs around here have it in for standard autocannons. All the other _Wolvies_ are modded with PPCs replacing the AC/5."

"Suits me." Sousa did like the idea; it would mean more heat, but less to explode. She glanced up at her _Wolverine_ again. It had been her father's, who undoubtedly would roll over in his grave if he heard someone talking about modifying it. She took a deep breath. "Well, Killers," she said, trying to sound tough and authoritative, "let's mount up. We're cleared for a test run. Let's see what we can do." _And more importantly,_ she added, _let's see what_ I _can do._


	7. Into the Wolf's Lair

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've been remiss in answering RogueBaron and MoisinM38 for reviewing my story. Let me say, thank you! It's good to be writing some Snowbird stuff again. Keep on reviewing. To answer Rogue's comment, Ayl is kind of a Tooriu expy. As for Moisin's question, Marion was hard on Janice da Sousa because she sensed there was leadership qualities there...and wanted to test them._

 _Mercenary Review and Bonding Commission Hiring Hall_

 _Outreach, Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth_

 _25 September 3056_

Senefa Malthus sighed and tapped a few keys on her datapad. Another contract was taken off the list, one that grew steadily shorter.

When she began her mission of finding potential contracts at eight that morning, there were fifty potentials on the list. It was since whittled down steadily, either by poor working conditions in the contract, salaries inadequate for the Sentinels' needs, or outright refusal. Only one contract, offered by a group called Phoenix Recovery Incorporated, offered both good salary and working conditions, but it left too many questions unanswered. Senefa politely refused that one; Sheila would understand.

It long past noon, and time for a break. Senefa sat on a couch and wolfed a small lunch, then leaned back to study the city of Harlech through the windows of the thirteenth floor of the monolithic complex, and the people in the Hiring Hall itself. It was an explosion of colors from every corner of the Inner Sphere. Mercenaries were known for their independence, and that extended to their fashion. Styles ranged from the raffish to the decadent, from tattered to ridiculously expensive. In one glance, Senefa saw a member of Richard's Panzer Brigade, dressed in faded blue jeans, a T-shirt with his regiment's emblem emblazoned over it, and a cracked leather jacket. Passing him was a woman dressed in a silversilk dress that left little to the imagination, with polished black boots and a transparent shimmering blue cape. Only a small black patch with a crab on her left sleeve identified her as a member of Marshigama's Legionnaires. Both served House Liao.

Then she noticed people staring at her. Her uniform was the gray of the Sentinels, but cut in a Clan fashion, with a lot of leather, and she wore two Clan-style red daggerstars over her right breast along with her Sentinels rank of Lieutenant Commander. Some of the stares were lecherous—that amused Senefa, who knew she was attractive—but more were disdainful. Nonetheless, when she met the stare, they turned away.

The entire mission still had her on edge. She was a warrior, not an accountant or negotiator. Senefa knew Sheila sent her to Outreach because of Sheila's unwavering loyalty and trust of her friend, but she felt very out of place. The looks she got did not help. She began to wonder if she might be attacked, by a mercenary who lost friends or family in the Clan War. Few would want to try on an obviously Clan-trained warrior, but all it took was one or two, and there would be blood on the polished floors.

Senefa, then, could be excused for her actions when a hand landed on her shoulder.

She whirled away from the hand, slapping it away with one hand and punching with the other. In a moment, her opponent was on the ground, clutching his chest, and she was two paces away. She turned sideways and assumed a fighting stance, one hand on her holster. Guns were banned in the Hiring Hall, but she carried other weapons. It was only then that she realized that her opponent—and his two compatriots—wore the red and black uniform of Wolf's Dragoons.

The other two held up their hands as if to ward off evil. "Take it easy, Lieutenant Commander Malthus! Commander Wolf just wants to talk. He just wants to talk."

Senefa fought down the adrenaline, reached down and helped up the gasping Dragoon. She quickly assessed his condition: breath knocked out, more in shock than pain, possibly a bruised sternum. "Very well," she told the Dragoons. "Please lead on." Senefa did not apologize. _Perhaps next time,_ she thought, _they will announce themselves before grabbing someone, quiaff?_

They quickly left the hall, which had attracted an audience. The men led her to an elevator. No one spoke as the elevator rose to the top, and she was led to an office, where they left her alone.

Senefa's boots sank into plush carpeting, but that was the only nod to luxury in the office. If this was indeed Wolf's, his taste in décor was similar to Sheila Arla-Vlata's, though instead of military paintings on the walls, Wolf apparently preferred the Impressionists. Senefa idly inspected the nearest one, a Monet. She did not quite suppress a gasp when she realized it was an original.

"You like it?"

Senefa turned around. She then came to attention and gave a sharp salute, Sentinels-style, with the palm down.

Jaime Wolf smiled and returned it in the same fashion. He was a good few inches shorter than the Clanswoman, but it was Senefa who felt diminished. Wolf was easily in his seventies, but other than a gray beard and hair, he looked like a man twenty years younger. He also had lost none of the commanding presence that had led five regiments into countless battles, and defied the Draconis Combine and the Clans.

"Do you like it, Lieutenant Commander?" Wolf repeated.

"Ah, aff, ovkhan Wolf." Senefa answered, using the Clan honorific for a superior officer. "That is an original. It must have cost a fair sum."

"It would have," Wolf said. "Probably in the neighborhood of forty million C-Bills. Luckily, I got it for free—a gift from Cranston Snord. He figured I would take better care of it than the Marik thief who grabbed it out of a Star League cache." He motioned her to a seat and took one across from her. "Can I offer you anything to drink?"

"Neg, ovkhan. Thank you."

Wolf sighed. "Ovkhan. It's been quite awhile since someone addressed me like that."

"You merit it. What did you wish to discuss?"

Wolf's smile returned. "Not much for small talk, quiaff? I had heard that about you." He settled back into the chair. "Don't bother with your other three appointments today. You won't be accepted. The Sentinels have been quietly blackballed from employment—you've been made _persona non grata._ "

Senefa's eyes narrowed. "Why? What have we done?"

Wolf shrugged. "I don't know, but I can tell you you're being set up. Someone is ensuring the Sentinels accept no offers here on Outreach. It doesn't make any sense, not to me. The Sentinels have never broken a contract, and it's one of the more popular mercenary units. You turn away recruits who don't meet your standards; you're not one of the rotten units that will just take anyone and do anything."

"Then who is setting us up?"

Wolf caught the edge of steel in Senefa's voice. "Trials of Grievance aren't taken so well here, Senefa." His tone was light, but carried a warning.

"That is your loss." Senefa steepled her fingers, but Wolf could see it was to keep them off the holster. "I wish to know, with respect, ovkhan Wolf."

"Let me ask you a question first, Senefa." Wolf met her gaze. "Why do you stay with the Sentinels? No offense, but I rather expected any Clan defectors to make their way here, to the Dragoons. Instead, a good number ask to join your Clan Sentinel, as it were, and you follow Sheila Arla-Vlata without hesitation. I'm curious."

Senefa suspected that she was being deflected away from her question, but answered all the same. "Duty and honor. It was my duty to serve with the people I surrendered to. It is my honor to serve with them."

"You wear no bondcord and never have." He gestured at her wrists.

"On the contrary," Senefa smiled, "I wear a bondcord of friendship. Sheila Arla-Vlata accepted me when no one else would, when my own Clan abandoned me. As far as I am concerned, she is as much a sister to me as my sibkin—if not more so."

Wolf nodded slowly. "You do your Clan credit."

"I no longer am affiliated with the Jade Falcons."

"I know that." Wolf briefly glanced out the window at Harlech twenty floors below. "To answer your question, the Draconis Combine is the one setting you up. Subtly, for once. The Federated Commonwealth is quietly backing them up. Since no mercenary unit wants to upset the two strongest realms in the Inner Sphere, the Sentinels are essentially boxed in."

"Then that means…" Senefa's face darkened. "That means Victor Steiner-Davion lied to us. He said that it was a matter of political pressure and bureaucratic nonsense."

"When I heard about it today, I had the Combine's man here on Outreach in this office. He assured me that it was not only to the Sentinels' benefit, but to the benefit of the entire Inner Sphere. To be honest, I believed him. I usually know when someone is lying to me, especially a politician. The ambassador was quite open. That's when I sent my men to find you. You deserved to know."

"Sheila was sent a message by a _Chu-sa_ Ishida on Solaris VII."

"Not surprising," Wolf replied. "That's where a lot of units have been hired by Kurita lately. They've cleared it here with us, first. I've seen this Ishida cropping up quite a bit. So far, they've been hiring smaller mercenary units; the Sentinels are by far the largest they've gone after."

"Then the Sentinels are not alone," Senefa mused.

"No. There's a common thread there." He looked at her. "All the units hired have a grievance against the Clans. Waco's Rangers were hired last month. You're aware of how much they hate the Dragoons, and the Clans by extension." Senefa nodded. "Last week they picked up the Scavengers. You may not have heard of them. They're a hard unit, not trustworthy, and they're named because they take contracts strictly for salvage and resell. The Scavengers have a particular hatred for the Smoke Jaguars. I'm not sure why."

Wolf got to his feet; Senefa immediately followed. "I've told you all I know, Senefa. I wish I had more, and you should probably get back to Thorin as soon as you can. Don't tell anyone what we've discussed, or who told you—the last thing I need is to get into hot water with the Archon Prince or the Coordinator. You can tell Sheila, of course. And Max, since I'm pretty certain Sheila tells him everything anyway." He motioned with his hand at the holster. "May I look at that?"

Senefa pulled the length of metal from the holster. He turned it over, pressed the stud on top, and jumped when the two ends leaped out. "Collapsible staff. Sensible. You might have a tough time with an Elemental in a Circle of Equals, though."

"I have never lost in a Circle of Equals." She smiled, checking herself. "Except once, and Sheila's not an Elemental." She accepted the staff back, pressed the stud, and returned it to its carrier. "You are a master of kendo, quiaff? Perhaps we should spar sometime, ovkhan Wolf."

Wolf laughed. "I'm afraid I'm a little too old for that, Senefa. And I'm hardly a master. Now archery, perhaps…" He put out a hand. "It was good seeing you again. It's not often I meet someone the Clans hate more than me."

Senefa shared in the laugh, because she saw the humor in it. "The pleasure was mine, ovkhan Wolf."

As he showed her to the door, Wolf suddenly became somber. "Good luck, Star Colonel." He used her old rank. "I wish I didn't have to say this, but I truly think you're going to need it."


	8. Blood On the Floor

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: I really wanted to call Sousa's group "The Kilq," but I don't know how many wrestling fans there are out there.  
_

 _REVIEWER'S CORNER: RogueBaron: I can't answer that one this time, but the next chapter should bring a few surprises regarding Kurita._

 _The Wander Inn Bar and Grill, Ehrenbreitstein_

 _Thorin, Skye March, Federated Commonwealth_

 _26 September 3056_

Betty Reese was depressed. She absently pulled at the blue patch on her shoulder, her scotch-and-soda untouched on the table. David Nelson, on the other hand, was in a state of happy inebriation. He emptied a large mug of foaming beer and crashed it onto the table, making the rest of the drinks jump. Jacen Lefar scooted his chair back a little and remained silent as usual, while Cynthia Wright took no notice of Nelson's antics and leaned back on two legs of her chair, balanced with one foot on the table.

Janice da Sousa approached the table. Wright glanced up, grinned, and pointed her finger at Sousa, her hand in the shape of an imaginary gun. "Pow!" It was a habit Wright was known for, but Sousa did not feel much like acting the victim. Instead, she sat down, across from Nelson.

There were a few other Sentinels at the bar, but the Wander Inn clearly had lost its charm as a regimental hangout in the planetary capital of Ehrenbreitstein. The citizens of Thorin once welcomed the Sentinels with open arms and open bar tabs. Now war had come to Thorin again, and the Sentinels were to blame—a sentiment shared by the patrons at the Wander Inn, and not a few of the Sentinels themselves.

The tension could be cut with a knife, and Sousa would have to be blind not to realize it. She tried to ignore it, but too many eyes were on her table. She, Reese, Nelson, Lefar and Wright had come together in the cadet platoon, a little group that Nelson dubbed "the Clique." This was their first time back to the Wander Inn since the end of the siege, and she was beginning to wonder if they had made a big mistake. A holo of the band Good Knight flickered in the corner and moaned out their latest hit, but it was ignored.

Nelson let out a stentorian belch and Sousa nearly jumped out of her chair. "Nelson!" she hissed.

"What?" Nelson swayed a little in his chair.

"Keep it down. The locals aren't too fond of us right now…or haven't you noticed?" Nelson opened his mouth to say exactly what he thought of that, thought better of it, and remained silent.

Lefar noticed the usually ebuillent Reese's silence. "What's eating you, Betty?"

Reese smiled, glad that someone was finally going to commiserate with her. "I didn't get the unit I wanted."

Lefar returned the smile. Alone among the Clique, Reese was not a MechWarrior. She had wanted to be one, but her lack of depth perception meant piloting a 'Mech usually ended with her face down in the dirt. She was transferred to armor training, but the Sentinels trained all branches together in the cadet platoons, the better to engender teamwork and lessen the age-old rivalry between the service branches. Even Wright, who considered anyone who was not a MechWarrior to be less than human, liked Reese. "What unit did you get?" he asked.

"Ceta Four. Combat Support." She showed him the patch on her shoulder. It showed a pink bunny beating a drum, with the legend _Energizers_ below it.

"Ceta's 4th Company? Shasti Buena's company?" Lefar shrugged. "Doesn't sound so bad. She's a good CO, or so I've heard. What do you drive?"

"Hawkslayer."

"Air defense? That's not so bad," Lefar lied smoothly. He could not quite keep the pity off of his face. The others' expressions ranged from sorrow to horror. The Hawkslayer air defense artillery vehicle was an upgraded, uparmored version of the venerable Partisan, armed with twin LB-10X autocannons. When loaded with flechette rounds, the Hawkslayer was deadly against low-flying, strafing fighters. It needed to be, as Hawkslayers rarely got more than one shot against a strafing Clan Omnifighter; if it, and other members of the platoon, did not kill the fighter in the first pass, the second would usually obliterate the Hawkslayer. It was considered the worst duty in the Sentinels, and tank platoon commanders usually used it to break in new tank commanders before moving them to the more prestigious—and more survivable—main battle tanks. If they lived through it. The Sentinels needed Hawkslayers, but no one would claim that they wanted the be the ones to crew them.

"I have confidence in you," Sousa said.

"I'm glad someone does," Reese replied with more than a little bitterness. She threw back half the scotch. "What unit did you get, Jacen?"

"11th Hussars in Alpha Three. Light scouts. They gave me a _Valkyrie._ "

Reese considered. "Not bad. At least you got plenty of armor and jump jets if things get hairy."

"You're right," Lefar nodded. "You know, those LBs on the 'Slayer could rip up an Elemental platoon pretty good."

"I'd hate to see what they would do to regular infantry," Sousa added.

"Frackencrack, I damn well hope so," Reese replied. Elementals were even more feared to tank crews than 'Mechs. As the tankers said, at least one could get behind a 'Mech.

"Hey, Cynthia," Nelson rumbled, "you haven't said what you got yet."

Wright grinned hugely. "Well, about time someone asked!" She plunked down her right arm. "Check it, bitches." Her patch showed the Sentinels knight's head above a green circle, with a Lyran harp. "49th Fusiliers. I got me a _Marauder._ 75 tons of beating ass—and I have the lightest 'Mech in the lance! Alpha Two for the win!" Nelson could not resist a war whoop and nearly collapsed Wright's lungs with a slap to the back. Alpha Battalion's 2nd Company was made up almost entirely of assault 'Mechs: the mailed fist of the Sentinels, used as a battering ram.

Wright was about to expound further on the greatness of her new lance when one of the bar's patrons walked over to her. "Did I hear you say you piloted a _Marauder?"_

She beamed up at him. "You bet your ass."

The man poked her chest. "One of you fuckers put a PPC bolt through my house!"

Sousa quickly got to her feet and gently put her hand on the man's shoulder. "Easy, now—"

He pulled away. Now Wright was on her feet, and the bar resounded with the sound of chairs being slid back. The Clique was joined by another group of Sentinels, wearing the green collar tabs of tank crews. The man in front of Wright refused to back down. "Well?" he shouted in Wright's face. "Nothing to say?"

"What the hell do you want me to say?" Wright shot back. "I wasn't even in the Sentinels yet, man!"

"I lost my little boy," the man exclaimed, and his voice broke on the last word.

"I'm sorry," Wright said, genuinely, "but like I said—"

"Maybe you should've accepted the Skye separatists' terms!" another man yelled.

"Maybe you should shut the fuck up!" one of the tankers yelled back.

A woman, one of the waitresses, stepped forward. "If you'd accepted terms," she said tightly, "none of this would've happened. There wouldn't have been a battle."

"Run with our tails between our legs to a buncha rebels?" Nelson snorted. "Yeah, right! And nobody would ever hire the Sentinels again! Who wants to hire a bunch that just ups and runs from a buncha nobodies?"

"That's all you mercs care about!" the waitress screamed. "Money!"

"The western half of the city is in ruins!" someone else shouted.

"So is Sentinel Base Thorin!" Sousa replied. "We lost some of our families too. And they weren't on the line any more than this gentleman's child." At the waitress' disbelieving face, Sousa added, "The Skye people weren't exactly discriminate with their artillery. Some of it hit the family quarters." The waitress looked away and backed off a little, but she was the only one. Sousa noticed that there were eight Sentinels in the room. The other patrons had three times that number.

"Who cares," the first man said. "You brought your own destruction." He pointed towards the door. "Get out. Get out of this bar and out of this town."

Nelson pushed his chair back with a foot, to get some fighting room. "Last I heard, Thorin's a free planet. I figure we can drink where we want."

To everyone's surprise, the normally quiet Lefar took a step forward, to stand next to Reese. "I should add that a _lot_ of Sentinels got killed so you people—" he motioned to the bar crowd "—could sit here and badmouth us. You have that right, but we're the ones who bled for it." There were rumbles of agreement from the other Sentinels.

Wright might have been advised to keep quiet at that point, but she jumped in. "Maybe if you'd helped us instead of hiding—what was it, you guys were 'neutral' or some shit?—the siege would've been over a hell of a lot quicker. I don't remember hearing about any of your lot on the line with a rifle…unless it was for the other side."

It was the wrong thing to say. "Shut up!" the first man screamed, and punched Wright in the jaw. She was not expecting it and went to the floor. Nelson launched himself at the man and speared him into a table, which collapsed under them.

The fight was on.

Sousa ducked a punch, swung and missed, then stepped back as a burly tanker went to work on her assailant. Lefar grabbed the semiconscious Wright and pulled her under the table; Reese grabbed a chair and smashed it across the back of another patron who was trying to sucker punch Nelson. Nelson bodily picked up the first man and hurled him into the mirror behind the bar. He stepped back to join the tankers, who had formed a wall with chairs and table legs and were holding their own.

Lefar joined Sousa. "Cynthia okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, just got her bell rung—look out!" Someone had grabbed a butter knife and was coming straight at them. The knife was dull and likely would do little damage, but Lefar stepped in front of Sousa. The knife wielder obviously was no fighter: he made feeble motions. To Sousa's stunned surprise, Lefar reached out and grabbed the man's arm; there was the snap of bone and both patron and knife were on the floor, though the former was screaming. "Where the hell—" Sousa asked.

"I paid attention during Rhialla's knife training class. Didn't you?" Lefar went over to help Reese, who was covering the tankers' flank. Sousa watched them.

It distracted her, and she did not see the punch. White stars exploded behind her vision, and she found herself sitting on the floor. Whoever punched her was nowhere to be seen, but the burly woman raising a fire axe above her was. The woman was clearly out to kill; the axe was at the apex of its arc, and the blade would be in Sousa's chest in the next moment.

There was an explosion and the woman's face disappeared in a spray of red. She crumpled to the ground and the axe fell harmlessly to one side. Sousa stared at the Sternsnacht heavy pistol that had materialized in her right hand. She had drawn without thinking, a warrior's reflexes.

The fight had stopped for a moment, as everyone heard the gunshot. Then it was as if a flag was dropped. Both sides separated, both sides drew weapons from holsters—most of the bar's patrons carried needlers or light pistols—and both sides flipped tables on their sides. What had been a confused bar brawl now became a firefight.

Wright had recovered and dragged Sousa back behind the table. Two dents appeared in the table's underside, but the tough oak held. Sousa shook her head of the shock, saw that all the Sentinels were under cover, and threw her Sternsnacht to the unarmed Nelson. "Jacen, do you have your com?"

"Yeah!" Lefar yelled back. The noise of the gunfire was deafening.

Sousa realized she was the ranking officer in the bar; the tankers were all noncoms. "Get Base Thorin on the horn! We're going to need the SLI to get out of here!"

Reese crawled over to her. "I saw one of the bastards on a phone. They're probably calling the police."

"Yeah, but on who?" Wright yelled. "The cops are more liable to open up on us as the locals!"

"Sentinel Base, Sentinel Base," Lefar radioed, "this is Knight Three, Knight Three." He used his MechWarrior callsign, and prayed that he had the right frequency and someone was listening.

Someone was. "Go ahead, Knight Three, this is Base One," replied a voice filled with curiosity. "What's up?"

"Base One, me and seven other friendlies are pinned down in the Wander Inn. We're in a firefight, I say again, we are under fire. We need some SLI in here, double quick!"

"Say again, Knight Three?" The voice was incredulous. "Are you pinned down by Skye holdouts?"

"Locals, Base One." Lefar cut off the next question. "It's a long story, and if you don't send in the troops, we're not going to be around to tell it!"

A new, more authoritative voice broke in. "Knight Three, this is Claw Five. We are five blocks away and en route. ETA two minutes. Stay in contact and hold tight. Did you get that, Knight Three?"

"Five-square, Claw Five!" Lefar said. He raised his voice above the din. "SLI coming in!"

Sousa nodded and also raised her voice, to a command tone, and hoped people would listen. "Keep up a harassing fire! Don't shoot to kill unless you have to!"

"Bit late for that!" Nelson yelled back. He knew he had already shot someone. He fired a shot at a woman who stood up to fire; both missed, but a ricochet spanged off the table and struck Wright in the foot. The MechWarrior screamed and then began cursing eloquently in three languages. There was another scream, and Sousa saw one of the tankers down, bleeding from a wound high in the chest. The tables were beginning to break down.

It seemed longer than two minutes, but Lefar's radio crackled. "Knight Three, say your position."

"We're in the middle of the bar!" Lefar shouted. "We've got a bunch of tables around us! Hurry up, for God's sake!"

"Roger that," the voice replied calmly. "Get down; we're coming in."

"Sentinels!" Lefar yelled as loud as he could. "Hug hardwood; the SLI's coming in!"

His last word was drowned out by a thunderous blast as the front door was blown off its hinges. The firefight abruptly stopped as two Sentinels Light Infantry shouldered their way through, their shapes hidden behind ablative armor and thick, opaque helmets. Both raised their assault rifles and were joined by a third. "Everyone on the floor!" one of them ordered, voice distorted by the helmet speaker. "Hold your fire! Throw your guns out—"

A shot rang out, somewhere from the patrons' side. The infantry did not hesitate and opened fire; their assault rifles swept the bar at waist level. The heavy rounds, designed to penetrate body armor, cut two people nearly in half; another went down screaming at where her right hand used to be. Anyone who was not already on the floor quickly made it there. Guns clattered to the middle of the bar as soon as the bursts ceased; Sousa was not sure if the infantry knew the sheep from the wolves.

"Sentinels, up!" the infantryman ordered. Sousa motioned her ersatz command to their feet. More infantry arrived, fanned out, and formed an armored barrier that the MechWarriors and tankers moved behind. Wright was picked up like a child by Nelson, and Sousa saw that the tanker hit in the chest was dead; his fellow crew carried him out. She tried not to see the charnel house that the bar had become, or the life she had taken.

Sousa was the last of the MechWarriors to leave the bar. Using hand signals, the SLI squad collapsed their perimeter and withdrew back through the remains of the door. They then took up handholds on the side of the Lynx hover armored personnel carrier. One slapped the side and climbed onto the turret, and the Lynx took off at high speed, from the formerly friendly city.


	9. Enter the Dragon

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry it's been so long on updates. I was busy getting Evangelion Evolution Reborn to a good break point, and was having a little trouble writing this scene. But it's done now, so enjoy. There will definitely be some battles coming up soon-this party's just started._

 _Sentinel Base Thorin_

 _Thorin, Skye March, Federated Commonwealth_

 _29 September 3056_

To Sheila Arla-Vlata's surprise, Isoroku Ishida was not dressed in either the formal white uniform of the Draconis Combine Mustered Soldiery or the field drab uniform. He was dressed in a rather nice business suit; the only nod to his loyalty was the House Kurita dragon tietack. As Vornzel closed the door behind him, Ishida took in the room and gave a formal bow to them. Sheila returned the bow, then motioned him to a seat as he took one across her desk.

They were not alone. Max sat next to Sheila, and they were flanked by Jonathan Kennedy and Senefa Malthus. Kahvi Falx sat a respectful distance away, as a translator; Sheila did not trust her Japanese, and did not know how well Ishida spoke English. She was also there as a trap: Kahvi had renounced her Kurita citizenship years before and changed her name from Kimiko Matsushima. If Ishida reacted negatively to her presence, that would tell Sheila something of the man she was dealing with. She was glad to see he paid no more or less attention to Kahvi as he did to the other commanders.

Ishida politely declined Sheila's offer of refreshments and set his briefcase on her desk. "Commander Arla-Vlata," he said—Ishida did not stumble over Sheila's last name, as many native Japanese speakers did—"I would like, on behalf of Coordinator Theodore Kurita and the Draconis Combine, to offer the Sentinels Regimental Combined Arms Team a contract for employment."

Sheila leaned back in her chair. There it was. No talking around the subject to break the ice, as was tradition in the Combine. No innuendo. Ishida laid the cards on the table immediately. "May I see the contract?" Sheila asked after awhile.

"Certainly." Ishida opened the briefcase and handed over a sheaf of papers. He handed other copies to Max and Kennedy. He glanced at Senefa. "Lieutenant Commander Malthus, I did not bring a copy for you, as I thought you would find the concept of fighting for money to be insulting." He next looked at Kahvi. "And I apologize for not bringing an extra copy for you, Lieutenant Commander Falx. I was not aware you would be here."

Kahvi gave him a slight bow. "No insult was intended, sir, so none is taken."

Sheila read through the contract. Most mercenary contracts tended to be written the same, and this one was no different. It was a contract for a single year, which was typical for the Sentinels; like her father Calla, Sheila did not like open-ended contracts. It was easier on both sides that way.

Command rights were reserved to Sheila herself and her command staff, with the exception of a liaison officer and his staff. That surprised her some; even in the days that House Kurita hired mercenaries, before the Fourth Succession War, they usually insisted on placing the unit within the DCMS' command structure. Only the most prestigious units, like Wolf's Dragoons, got their own command. Apparently Kurita believed that the Sentinels should likewise be independent.

Transport was not necessary, as the Sentinels had their own transport; logistical support and supply was fair and generous. Salvage rights were only ten percent of the take, which Sheila nodded at: that meant an operation against the Clans. The Houses were still short of Clantech, and would want all they could get; ten percent was reasonable, and again, generous.

It was the remuneration that made Sheila's eyebrows go up, and from the expressions on Max's and Kennedy's faces, theirs as well. Back in her father's time, Kurita was notoriously stingy on contracts, with only House Liao considered to be more miserly. Davion and Marik were fair, and Steiner was best of all. Yet, the pay for each month—a total of 32 million C-Bills—was half again more than what the Federated Commonwealth had paid the Sentinels. It was more than enough for the Sentinels to not only break even, but turn a healthy profit.

The contract was the best Sheila had ever seen, in the five that she had signed since the end of the Clan War. There was only one drawback on the contract itself: under "Mission," which was the first paragraph of the contract, the type of mission was blank.

Ishida waited patiently for them to finish. Sheila set the contract down face-up on her desk. "That's one hell of a contract, if you don't mind me saying, _Tai-sa."_

The Kurita officer smiled. "It was the Coordinator's hope that you would find it worthy of signing."

"There's only one problem." Sheila's finger tapped the mission paragraph.

Ishida's smile remained. "I suspected that might be the issue. You see, Commander, it is blank because you are going to be involved in something so secret, that House Kurita would prefer it not be set down to paper."

"We don't sign open-ended contracts." Leaving the mission blank was considered to be borderline suicidal by mercenary units, Sheila knew: a mercenary unit foolish or desperate enough to do that might find itself on a one-way suicide mission, or worse, engaging in ethnic cleansing on some world that the House did not want to get its hands dirty in. The Sentinels weren't foolish, and they weren't that desperate—yet.

"I know, and we can confer on what exactly to call this." Ishida looked around the room. "I assume that what I say here shall stay here? There will be no leaks?"

"There damn well better not be."

"Very well." Ishida took a breath, let it out. "The Sentinels will be joining the Explorer Corps. The mission of the Explorer Corps is to find the Clan homeworlds."

Ishida expected Senefa Malthus to be the one to answer his words first, and he was not disappointed. "That is insane," she said slowly and deliberately.

"I assume you do not know the way, Lieutenant Commander?" Ishida kept his voice easy and level, but did not like the darkening rage on the former Clanswoman's face.

"I do not. Very few below the rank of Khan know. I was a junior Star Colonel and not privy to the secret." Senefa's stare was hard. "And if I did, I would not tell anyone in the Inner Sphere. Not the Prince, not the Coordinator—not even my best friend, Sheila Arla-Vlata."

"And why is that?" Ishida asked.

"Because the Inner Sphere rests on the razor's edge, _Tai-sa._ There are two factions in the Clans, as you know: the Wardens, who did not desire the invasion, and the Crusaders, who did. What many in the Inner Sphere do _not_ know is that there are a significant number of the Crusaders who will stop at nothing to gain control of Terra, and therefore become the ilClan—the head of all the Clans. By that, I mean the use of weapons of mass destruction.

"An attack on the Clan homeworlds ensures that that Crusader faction shall depose the Warden ilKhan currently in change—Ulric Kerensky—and lay waste to every planet between Tukayyid and Terra, and more besides."

Ishida, to Sheila's surprise, showed no emotion. He seemed not at all bothered by Senefa's words, or remotely surprised by them. "Then your advice would be to do nothing, Lieutenant Commander?"

Senefa bristled. "I did not say that. The Inner Sphere should build up its forces, fortify its borders opposite the Clan Occupation Zones, and, when the Truce of Tukayyid ends, let the Clans batter themselves senseless against those borders until they are destroyed or they quit."

"And if this radical Crusader faction should gain control of the Clans before then?" Ishida's voice suddenly grew as hard as Senefa's. "Would it not be better to fight the Clans on the streets of Strana Mechty by that time, or on the streets of Terra itself? Perhaps, Lieutenant Commander, the fact that the Inner Sphere knew of the homeworlds would give the Wardens more to work with. Perhaps that would cause them to pull the Clans back. I mean no disrespect, Lieutenant Commander, but Luthien is one jump away from the Smoke Jaguars and the Nova Cats. If they threaten _my_ home and capital, I most certainly would like to threaten theirs."

"Mutually assured destruction," Kennedy put in.

"Essentially. But mutually assured destruction did keep the peace on Terra for centuries."

Sheila put up a hand. "Okay, everyone…enough. What exactly are we going to be doing? If you're looking for explorers, I'd go talk to Interstellar Geographic. The Sentinels exist to kill our enemies and break their stuff."

Ishida nodded. "We only have the barest of ideas on where to look, but before we even begin that phase, we must have a base from which the Explorer Corps will operate. There is also a complication."

"I don't like complications," Sheila said.

Ishida's smile returned. "Neither do we." He withdrew a glossy map of the coreward region of House Kurita's border. Colored brown were the planets held by the Smoke Jaguars and the Nova Cats; red was Combine territory. Sheila was familiar with the area; she studied maps for a living. She followed Ishida's finger to Virentofta. "We have received intelligence that the Smoke Jaguars are building up for an offensive here. We believe they plan on taking the world of Altona. That is a complication, because Altona is where we intended to base the Explorer Corps from. Of course, the Smoke Jaguars can 'legally' take Altona, as it is above the Tukayyid Line."

"So you want us to help defend Altona?" Sheila asked.

"Not exactly. The DCMS plans to send Ryuken-ni, under the command of Masanori Kitakyushu, to attack Virentofta first. Two Clusters are reported on Virentofta, so the Ryuken may need some help. You have worked with Tai-sa Kitakyushu before, am I correct?"

It was Sheila's turn to smile. "Yes, we have. To be honest, Tai-sa, he saved our ass on Kagoshima." A laugh went up around the desk; even Senefa at least cracked a smile. Sheila would never forget the wild, last ten minutes of the Battle of Toriiyama, when the 'Mechs of Ryuken-ni began landing behind the Smoke Jaguars. Had Kitakyushu been ten minutes later, the Snowbirds—and everyone in the room, aside from Kennedy—would have been annihilated. She owed Kitakyushu her life. "We'd be happy to work with him again."

"The Coordinator thought so. Once the Virentofta operation is finished," Ishida continued, "the Sentinels will help in garrisoning Altona. When and if offensive operations coreward begin, the Sentinels will accompany those. Naturally, if such operations should begin eleven months from now, we would negotiate a new contract first."

That was good, Sheila reflected. It was a nasty trick that many employers pulled, to commit a mercenary unit with only a few weeks left on their contract to a mission that would take several months. The employer would get a few free weeks of service, and the mercenary unit would get hammered for nothing.

"And, in deference to Lieutenant Commander Malthus' concerns," Ishida added, "it would be good to have a, ah, former Clanswoman to speak her mind about the purpose of the Explorer Corps. She would find an attentive audience. I assume you have no difficulties speaking your mind to the Coordinator, Lieutenant Commander?"

"None," Senefa answered with finality.

"Then I see no reason why the Sentinels should not sign this contract," Ishida said.

"I see one." It was Max that answered. He and Sheila had agreed before the meeting that he would be the one to broach the subject, so that it would not be seen as a personal attack on Ishida. Despite his easygoing affability, Sheila knew that Ishida was still a samurai, and certain proprieties needed to be observed. "House Kurita didn't leave us a lot of choice, Tai-sa Ishida."

"How so?"

"Let's not bullshit each other," Max snapped. "We know you've been encouraging other employers to steer clear of us."

"Yes, that is true." Ishida sighed. "I suppose I should also admit that Prince Steiner-Davion colluded with us in this. Your contract difficulties were a happy coincidence—happy for us."

Sheila's eyes widened. "You mean…Victor…" She banged her metal fist against the table, and Ishida's cool demeanor finally cracked a little at the sudden display of temper. "That sawed off little…he sold us out!"

"Not exactly," Ishida reassured her. "Prince Steiner-Davion is aware of the Explorer Corps. The fact is, ladies and gentlemen, the Dragon _needs_ the Sentinels. We have hired other units, of course, quietly, but these units are small or do not have your regiment's reputation. We hired them because we are desperate. The DCMS doesn't have the resources to spare our own units—just sending Ryuken-ni to attack Virentofta puts a hole in our defenses."

"What other units have you signed?" Kennedy asked.

"Only two above company strength. The Scavengers, which are a full battalion, and the Waco Rangers, which are at regimental strength."

"God. You _are_ desperate," Kennedy replied. Sheila nodded. The Scavengers were well-named. While a superb unit under the command of a skilled commander—Seloy Deparra—the Scavengers had a deserved reputation of stealing anything not tied down. The MRBC had sanctioned them more than once, but Deparra and her battalion didn't care. As for the Waco Rangers, they too were considered a good unit, but their founder and commander, Wayne Waco, was obsessed with destroying Wolf's Dragoons and was more than a bit erratic. "What's next, Wilson's Hussars?"

"Possibly," Ishida answered.

"Let me see if I can guess the rest," Max said. "You quietly told, asked, or threatened any potential employers to stay away from the Sentinels. Then Theodore Kurita told Victor Steiner-Davion that, hey, the Sentinels' contract is up soon, so please don't renew it. The Sentinels will be hung out to dry, and they'll have to sign with the Dragon or starve." He didn't mention Sheila's mistake with the contract paperwork, but it sounded as if that was indeed merely an excuse for Victor Steiner-Davion to terminate their contract.

"That is correct," Ishida admitted. "I am sorry, ladies and gentlemen. We did not intend to cause the Sentinels any distress, but in the galaxy we live in, sometimes realms must do things we would rather not."

"That's putting it mildly." Sheila pulled the contract back towards her. She read it again. The mission was not complicated. Fighting the Clans was far more preferable than hunting down pirates or helping a Successor Lord fight over yet another frontier world. The pay was good, everything else was fine. Best of all, the Sentinels could bid Thorin a not-so-fond farewell, and she could inform the Sentinels that their paychecks would be regular again. The regiment sacrificed much for their name and flag, and it was time that sacrifice was repaid. If the Dragon meant to use the Snowbird, then the Snowbird would happily use the Dragon.

Sheila looked at all of her officers in turn. Kennedy and Max instantly nodded. Kahvi was more reluctant—she would be going back to a place she would just as soon forget—but she nodded as well. That left Senefa. Sheila could see the war going on behind her friend's eyes; Senefa was not a good poker player. On one hand, there was the danger that she was going to help the Inner Sphere hasten its own destruction…and on the other, there was the thrill of going back into battle against the hated Smoke Jaguars. Her company of former Clanfolk would love that, even those who were former Jaguars; in fact, the latter would be even more enthusiastic about revenge against the Clan that spurned them. Eventually, Senefa's own nature prevailed, and she gave a final nod.

Sheila paused, closed her eyes, and said a brief, heartfelt prayer. Then she picked up the pen. After she was finished, Ishida did the same.

 _Signed at Sentinel Base Thorin, Thorin on this 29_ _th_ _day of September in the year 3056 AD_

 _Commander Sheila Allegra Arla-Vlata, commanding the Sentinels RCAT_

 _Tai-sa Isoroku Ishida for House Kurita_

Kennedy, Senefa, and Max added their signatures as witnesses. When it was finished, Sheila let out her breath. It was done. For the first time in their history, the Sentinels were working for House Kurita.


	10. Snowbird, Go Forth

_Imperial City Spaceport_

 _Luthien, Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine_

 _15 October 3056_

The SDS _Kagoshima_ settled like a bird onto its landing gear; the analogy was helped by the downward-turned wingtips and jutting nose structure. It was the smallest DropShip in the Sentinels' inventory, capable of only carrying four 'Mechs and some infantry. Often, it was used as just a courier, which it was now.

Sheila Arla-Vlata stood behind Captain Rob Baron. As the steam and smoke from the _Kagoshima's_ landing dissipated, she could see through the transparisteel bridge dome that there was nothing on the tarmac where they had landed. "That's weird," Baron remarked.

"I agree," she replied. "I didn't expect a parade, but this is crazy. There's no one here." The _Kagoshima_ had been directed to a remote corner of the spaceport, but that was to be expected.

Baron pointed forward. "Over there—there's a hovercar."

Sheila squinted. She was by no means old, still shy of thirty, but her eyes had gotten worse. Then she saw it, a black hoverlimo with Kurita flags flapping from the fenders. "Yep, the welcome wagon. Better get down there."

"Should I keep the engines warm?"

Sheila considered, then shook her head. "Nah. If the Snakes were going to kill us, we'd never get past their planetary defenses on the way out. "

Baron nodded and began shutting down the ship's systems. Sheila took the companionway stairs behind the bridge two at a time, walked briskly down the _Kagoshima's_ main corridor, and past the tiny 'Mech bay. Max was waiting there, along with Nisa Kinosh, the head of the headquarters security platoon, and Louisa. The latter was chattering away at her adopted father; she had loved the descent into Luthien, and paid no notice to Sheila's pale features and trembling knees. _Someday,_ Sheila thought to herself, _I'm going to not be terrified in DropShips. Someday._

"They're on their way. Just one hoverlimo," Sheila informed them. "Probably a _Tai-sa_ at least." Max nodded and ran a hand through his hair, then reached out and adjusted Sheila's cape, which had gotten askew. Both of them wore the Sentinels' formal uniform; because they were both former members of the Snowbirds SMCAT, the hourglass shape on the tunics was powder blue, rather than the dark blue of the line battalions or the black of Gamma ICAT. Since Luthien was known to be hot, Sheila had eschewed the pants worn with the uniform for the female issue skirt, which made her feel self-conscious. Max almost laughed as Sheila gave a small tug on the skirt to pull it over her knees and brushed away some dust from the three glittering rank diamonds on her red shoulderboards. Louisa also wore a minature version of Sheila's uniform, though with no rank, naturally—she was only ten. Her bright red hair was pulled into a ponytail, the same as her adopted mother's.

Kinosh called over an honor guard of ten Sentinels Light Infantry, who wore armor, then punched a button. Their ears popped as the ramp depressurized and slowly lowered to the tarmac. The guards marched out in perfect unison, then dropped their polished naginatas into the stance of attention. Sheila waited at the head of the ramp, with Max and Louisa just behind.

The hoverlimo coasted to a stop, and two of the five doors opened. A security detail of four men in suits and mirrored sunglasses got out, glanced around, and then came to attention as well. The middle door opened, and Coordinator of the Draconis Combine Theodore Kurita stepped into the weak sunlight. Sheila's eyes widened. She had expected a high-ranking DCMS official, perhaps even the realm's heir, Hohiro Kurita—but not the ruler of the Combine itself.

One of the SLI troops turned to stare, and a hiss from Kinosh brought her back to attention. The four bodyguards took up position between the hoverlimo and the SLI troops, and Kurita came on alone—which was not surprising, as Sheila could see no one else in the limo except the shadow of the driver. As he got within ten paces, she bowed deeply to Kurita. "Your-Your Highness. I had no idea…you would be here." She hated the fact that her Japanese was poor.

Kurita returned the bow. He had not aged much in the four years since Sheila had seen him last, though his temples were beginning to gray and his face had thickened with age; he was beginning to look more like his late father Takashi. "That is good, Commander Arla-Vlata, since I am not supposed to be here." His English was maddeningly flawless. As they straightened, he extended a hand, and Sheila shook it. His grip was still strong as a vise. He took a step towards Max. "Major Canis-Vlata. You look well."

Max also shook hands. "Thank you, Coordinator. You as well. Our condolences for the loss of your father." Sheila suppressed a smile; leave it to thorough Max to remember that.

Kurita nodded. "Thank you, Major." He saw Louisa and his face split in a wide smile. "And who is this?"

Louisa again bowed deeply, but when she straightened up—correctly, after Kurita inclined his head to her—she met the Coordinator's gaze without fear. "I am Louisa Arla-Vlata, Highness. It is an honor to meet you, sir." Her Japanese was excellent.

He nodded with satisfaction. "The honor is mine, Miss Arla-Vlata. You do your parents honor." Kurita turned to Sheila. "Might we go for a walk, you and I?"

Sheila could not stop from swallowing nervously. "Sir?"

"I understand you enjoy taking walks because it helps you think better."

"Ah, yes, sir." Kurita turned on one heel, made a quick but thorough inspection of the SLI, congratulated Kinosh on the appearance of her troops, then strode past his own bodyguards, leaving Sheila to scramble to catch up, despite Kurita having twenty years on her.

"Quite the daughter you have there," the Coordinator said as Sheila drew even with him. To her surprise and consternation, his bodyguards had not followed them. She was alone with the ruler of the Combine. Both of them wore presentation swords, and the idea that she was armed in the Coordinator's presence was shocking. Theodore Kurita was rather good at discomfiting her, Sheila mused; it was not the first time.

"Yes, Coordinator," Sheila finally replied. "She's adopted."

"Oh, I remember," he assured her. "War orphan; lost her parents and sister on Vantaa to the Jade Falcons. I will watch her career with great interest." His smile remained, but Kurita's demeanor changed, and Sheila knew the formalities, necessary for both sides to retain face, were finished. "I imagine you are wondering why I am here."

"To be honest," Sheila said, "I'm a little nervous. Is it…safe?" She motioned with her head at the forest that surrounded their corner of the spaceport.

"If it is not, then the ISF responsible will be slitting their bellies by nightfall. Such incompetence will not be tolerated." Sheila missed a step. Kurita had used her words to show just a little bit of steel, a little reminder that the Sentinels worked for the Dragon now—and he _was_ the Dragon. "I don't have to worry about that with the Sentinels, Commander."

 _Was that a compliment or a threat?_ "Thank you, Coordinator…but still…"

Kurita gave her a nod. "Your concern for my security is commendable, Sheila-san, but the reason I am here, rather than some retainer, is fourfold. One, the Combine has not forgotten Kagoshima and what you did there. You deserve more than a staff flunky to welcome you back to Luthien." His features softened a bit and he pointed at the two swords thrust into Sheila's belt. " _Tai-sa_ Usagi passed away last year…as you probably know."

"We'd heard. His daughter sent us a message." Sheila smiled a little, at the memory of the old samurai, who had fought so hard and well at Toriiyama on Kagoshima, and given her his swords in gratitude. When she had read the message to the Snowbirds who remembered Usagi, Sheila was surprised to see Marion Rhialla begin to cry.

"Two, though the Combine's policy towards mercenaries has changed, its attitude remains less progressive. Though you and yours will always be welcome here, there are others who do not share my opinion. Hence why you and I are walking alone, in a deserted corner of a very large spaceport, rather than at a formal dinner with your officers.

"Three, the existence of the Explorer Corps remains a closely guarded secret. The less people know about the Sentinels' new contract with the Combine, the better.

"Four, and finally—the Sentinels will not be staying long. In fact, as soon as you and I end our meeting, you will be returning to your JumpShip, and once the Sentinels' JumpShip sails are recharged, you will be departing."

"Virentofta?"

"Yes." Kurita looked at the cloudy sky. Sheila was glad of the skirt; the humidity was already beginning to affect her breathing. Kurita did not seem to notice, and he was wearing the formal uniform of his office. "It seems that Ryuken-ni has run into some trouble with the two Clusters of Nova Cats onplanet. We have already sent Waco's Rangers, the Scavengers, and the Lightning Battalion, but it will be another three weeks before they arrive. Even with recharging, the Sentinels will arrive at Virentofta four or five days before the others." Kurita noticed something in Sheila's expression. "Is something wrong, Commander?"

"No…no, Coordinator." Sheila got the feeling Kurita knew she was lying, so she quickly added, "That's a lot of firepower for two Nova Cat Clusters."

"It is, which brings me to my next point. The Explorer Corps will not be based on Altona as originally decided. Instead, we intend to take and _hold_ Virentofta." This time she knew that Kurita saw the shock on her face, and he smiled. "There was nothing in the Tukayyid Agreement that said we could not retake any of the planets the Clans took from us. Probably because they did not anticipate we would try. Between the Ryuken, the Sentinels, and the other three units, that gives you four regiments. That should be more than enough to hold the planet—and naturally, you will be reinforced by whatever other mercenaries we should bring to the Corps. _Tai-sa_ Kitakyushu will have command, but you will be second in command. Will that be an issue?"

"No, sir. Of course not. _Tai-sa_ Kitakyushu is a good man." Privately, Sheila did not think the other mercenary commanders would be too happy about it, either Kitakyushu or herself. "What about _Tai-sa_ Ishida?"

"He will be joining you before you jump out of the system." Kurita shrugged and turned, beginning to walk back to the _Kagoshima._ "I truly hate the idea of not giving you or the Sentinels a formal reception, Sheila-san. You have earned that, at least. However, in the interest of harmony and secrecy, I am afraid that, for now, it is impossible. It is also intolerable that I must send your regiment on its way again so quickly."

That meant no shore leave for the Sentinels. There would be a lot of frustration and anger over being cooped up on DropShips for another two weeks, after two weeks of transit between Thorin and Luthien. Still, there was nothing for it. "It's all right, Coordinator," Sheila said. "I hate formal dinners anyway."

It wasn't much of a joke, but Kurita laughed nonetheless. "To be honest, Sheila-san, neither do I." They stopped in front of the honor guard, and he put out his hand again. "I wish you the best of luck on Virentofta, Commander. When you commanded only a battalion, you tore the heart out of a Smoke Jaguar Cluster. The Nova Cats should be the Snowbird's next prey."

Sheila didn't feel like mentioning that the Smoke Jaguar Cluster had been a second-line one, or that cats usually ate birds. She shook the hand firmly. "You do me too much honor, Coordinator. We will take Virentofta." They exchanged bows, then Kurita pivoted on one foot and walked towards the hoverlimo. Sheila did the same, acknowledged the SLI's salute, and strode back aboard the _Kagoshima_.

"He was kind of cool, Mama," Louisa said as the SLI marched back aboard.

"Yes, he was," Sheila replied distractedly. "Why don't you go watch Captain Baron get ready for takeoff?"

Ten or not, Louisa knew an order when she heard it. She ran off down the corridor. Max looked at Sheila. "We're not staying then." It was a statement.

"Nope. The Coordinator is sending us straight to Virentofta. Seems the Ryuken's having some trouble." Sheila stared out the door as the ramp began to rise shut. "Shortest visit ever."

"Doesn't bother me none. Luthien stinks." Sheila wasn't sure if Max meant it literally or figuratively, though both were true. "I guess we should feel honored with the royal sendoff."

"It gets better." She turned back to him. "Theodore's turned the raid on Virentofta into retaking the planet. It's going to be the Explorer Corps' base now."

"That's…kind of crazy," Max said at length. "We take that planet, and it's going to royally piss off the Nova Cats. Since they can't advance past the Tukayyid line, they'll come after Virentofta to restore their lost honor—assuming we _can_ take the place."

"We should. We've got three other merc units coming with us. And I think that's exactly what Teddy wants. He's going to turn Virentofta into planet-size flypaper." Sheila knew the strategy: you took something vital, something the enemy had to have. Then you reinforced the hell out of it, and let the enemy batter themselves senseless against it. Sometimes, it actually worked.

"Or he's going to turn us into the Nova Cats' newest chew toy." Max sighed. "Who else does he have signed up for this excursion? The Wacko Rangers and the Scavengers, right?"

"Yeah, Waco and the Scavengers are on their way; we'll get there before they do. There's a third battalion coming too—the Lightning Battalion."

Max gave a start of surprise. "The Lightning Battalion? That's—"

"—Steven Broughton's unit, yes. The same." Sheila's face darkened even as the hold shut out the last of Luthien's light. "The same son of a bitch that had me court-martialed."


	11. Cherry Drop

_Onboard SDS_ Morningside

 _Assault Orbit, Virentofta, Smoke Jaguar Occupation Zone_

 _29 October 3056_

Janice da Sousa wiped her hands on the MechWarrior shorts she wore. She was shivering in the chill of the DropShip's main bay, and yet she was sweating like it was summer. It was fear, and she knew it.

Luckily—she hoped, anyway—the darkness of the bay would hide her from the other MechWarriors of Beta Battalion. To her left stood the other two lance commanders of Beta Battalion, 2nd Company. Don Williams, who commanded the 21st Fusiliers, was an older man approaching middle age, his graying hair and beard worn long. Cynthia Hotz, the Line Chasseurs' commander, was tall and willowy, her short hair so blond it was almost white, an ex-fighter pilot turned MechWarrior. Both were veterans. Over the shoulders of the other MechWarriors, Janice could see her company commander: Mimi Stykkis, who hunched over her braces, the warrior who did not let something as minor as a snapped spine keep her from leading her company into battle.

Janice was the only officer who had never been in a battle before.

The ship rumbled and shook for a moment, but everyone had been in space for a month now, and such shuddering no longer bothered them. This time, it meant that the _Morningside_ had detached from its JumpShip and was heading into the atmosphere of Virentofta.

Stykkis took a breath and switched on the small holoprojector. Despite the slow rocking of the ship, Janice saw that Stykkis easily compensated on her braces. _Most MechWarriors would've retired after a wound like that, and been thankful for it,_ Janice thought, _but Mimi just keeps going._ She knew that Stykkis and Commander Arla-Vlata had been roommates together at the Nagelring, before the Clan War, and were still friends. There was a rumor that they had once been more than that...

Janice bit her lip to stop the stupid thoughts. She knew why they were running around in her head, unbidden and uncontrolled. Her mind wanted to concentrate on the trivial, so it would not have to concentrate on the very real possibility that she, Janice da Sousa, would be dead before nightfall.

"Okay, guys," Stykkis began, "here we go. We jumped insystem a day ago, so the Jags know we're coming. That part you know. What you don't know is what I just found out half an hour ago at the commanders' teleconference with JFK." That was a reference to Johnathan Kennedy, Beta Battalion's commanding officer. "We knew we were coming in to bail Ryuken-ni's choobies out of the fire, but they're not engaged with the Smoke Jags. They're engaged with the Nova Cats. Seems that Kurita intelligence got it wrong. There _are_ two Clusters onplanet like we thought, but only one is a second-line garrison Cluster, like we thought—the 4th Jaguar Dragoons. The other is the 4th Nova Cat Guards."

That sent a wave of murmuring through the MechWarriors, and a wave of ice through da Sousa's stomach. Second-line Clan MechWarriors were bad enough, but they mostly piloted older Star League-era 'Mechs, sometimes even rebuilt Inner Sphere machines. Most were freeborns, not as well-trained or as deadly as the genetically-engineered frontline Clan warriors. The 4th Nova Cat Guards would be exactly that, equipped with OmniMechs.

Stykkis grinned at them. "What's the hubbub, bub? It's not like we haven't faced Clanners and Omnis before. Just makes it interesting, that's all. Besides, we're not alone. Ryuken-ni's still down there, we've got almost two regiments up here with us, and we've got another regiment of effectives that are a day out—the Waco Rangers, the Scavengers, and the Lightning Battalion. This is going to be easy." She shook her head at them in mock consternation, and the murmuring quieted.

Stykkis then zoomed in on the holographic map. "Okay, here's the objective: Vingaard Keep. It's a fair sized city, about 56,000 people—about Ehrenbreitstein's size back on Thorin. The Ryuken hold the city, but just barely. About four days ago they accepted the Nova Cats' offer of a straight-up fight north of the city, up here around Benton Lake. They lost, the idiots. Now they've retreated back into the city, set fire to the refinery north of it, and blown one of the bridges across this river here—the Vingaard, like the city. The Ryuken were going to fight them house-to-house, but now that we're here, they just need to hold out for the next four hours.

"Nova Cat positions are here, here, and here: two Trinaries north of the river, near the old refinery; one Trinary here, at the Krynn Militia's old airbase east of town, and one Trinary down southeast of the city." Stykkis pointed at the spot, which looked like open farmland to her; it was marked Gibson Flats. "We can expect that, as soon as we ground, they're going to pull those two Trinaries out of the east and send them against us. That shouldn't be too much of a problem—they'll have ten 'Mechs to our sixty-four. I _likes_ them odds."

Janice felt the knot in her stomach untighten a bit. Six to one odds did sound pretty good. Not even the Clans could handle that. Williams raised his hand. When Stykkis pointed at him, he asked, "What's Ryuken-ni's strength?"

Stykkis shrugged. "Not too good. The Cats really roughed them up. Two, maybe three companies."

"Out of a regiment?"

"Yeah."

"Shit," Williams breathed, and the knot clenched again. Ryuken-ni was an elite regiment, and the Nova Cats had whittled it down to a battalion. Then again, maybe six to one was not enough.

Stykkis shook her head again. "Don, don't be a pussy. The Cats are torn up too. I think we'll wrap this part up in a day—maybe two."

"Care to stake your life on it?"

"I _am_ staking my life on it." Stykkis turned her attention back to the holomap. "All right, details time. Beta Battalion will be landing here, west of the river at this little town called Eden. We'll take the bridge there, then follow the river before we sweep northeast. Alpha Battalion's landing with Sheila at the Vingaard DropPort, and Alpha/3 is going to take Hospital Hill, here, just east of the river. That should distract the Cats. The Cats will hopefully cut around the city to the south to hit Alpha, and if they do, we'll nail 'em right in the flank. If the Cats see us coming and pull back, well, that works too.

"Ceta and Delta will be in reserve. The Snowbirds are going to sweep around to the north and trap the Cats against the river and what's left of the Ryuken if they're stupid enough to stand there. Gamma is going to land on our right flank and cover that, but if there's no opposition to the bridge crossing, then they'll head south and set up a blocking position here, at Cascade in the mountains. That's just in case the Smoke Jags start feeling tough. According to intel, the Jags have pretty much let the Ryuken and the Nova Cats go at it without getting involved; they hate each other," Stykkis added, with a glance towards Janice; she obviously figured Janice would not know the ins and outs of inter-Clan relations. "Clan Sentinel will be in reserve."

Williams laughed, and even the reserved Hotz chuckled a little. "Senefa's going to be madder than a mashed hornet when she finds that out," Williams said.

"Meh, she'll get over it. Personally, I'm glad Sheila is letting the line battalions earn their pay." Stykkis zoomed in the map on Eden Bridge. "Now there's the possibility of Elementals around here, but intel thinks they're up in the city. In any case, the river's wide but not too deep. The bridge is nice to have, but those of us with jumpjets should have no trouble clearing it. Once we take the bridge, we'll head due east, like I said. We'll shake out like this: Line Chasseurs on the left, Kwik Killers on the right, my 79th Highlanders in the center, with the missile boats of the Fusiliers right behind. Easy enough, yeah?" Stykkis looked at Janice again. "Da Sousa, you've been quiet. Can you handle a flanker position?"

"Of-of course," Janice stammered, to her embarrassment.

"Don't worry too much about it. Beta/3 will cross before we do. Carabinera's on point." Stykkis sounded a little disappointed.

Hotz raised a hand next. "Support?"

"Probably won't have any arty. Air support depends on how much the Aerowing has to fight on the way down. Figure we might get a strafing run or two, but that's it. Should've stayed a fighter pilot, Cynth." Hotz rolled her eyes. Janice had figured out that Hotz's former job was a standing joke between her and Stykkis.

"Anything else?" Stykkis looked at all of them in turn, all sixteen MechWarriors of her company. "No? Not even from the noobs?" She nodded. "Cool. Well, we won't be doing a combat drop. We'll ride the DropShip to the ground and dustoff. In any case, it'll take us four hours to get on the ground, so you got two hours before we mount up. Grab some food, take a piss, whack off, get laid, whatever you like." Janice winced. "Dismissed." She began to move off, but Stykkis called after her, "Except you, da Sousa."

Janice stopped as everyone else began walking away. _Great. Now what did I do?_ In the almost two months she had known Mimi Stykkis, Janice had found the other woman to be loud, crude, boisterous, and occasionally harsh—but fair. Stykkis did not play favorites, and she had treated Janice kindly. "Yes, ma'am?" Janice came to attention.

"Aw, knock that off," Stykkis said. "No reason for all that lifer shit around me." She limped over to her, the braces making clicking noises on the deck. "You're not in trouble. You are, however, scared shitless. Am I right?" Stykkis dropped her voice.

"No, Major."

Stykkis shook her head. "Lying is a sin, Lance Commander."

Janice sighed. "Yes, Major. I am indeed scared spitless." She supposed that, if nothing else, Mimi Stykkis likely had a good working knowledge of sin.

"Well, don't sweat it. Everybody gets scared on their first time out. You a virgin?"

Janice turned red. "That's none of your business, Major!" She said it loud enough that a few heads turned in their direction.

"Okay, you are. Well, I can't use that analogy then." Stykkis reached out and put a hand on Janice's shoulder. "Listen, da Sousa. You impressed that old bag Rhialla. That's a good start. And you've been top notch since you joined Beta/2. I'm glad you're with us. Your job is real simple: just make sure that no damn Clanners get behind us. You've got veterans in Halberd and Ayl. Use 'em. If they say something, listen. This is how you learn."

"I've been doing that, but…" Stykkis raised an eyebrow, so Janice continued, "…but…this is my first engagement…"

"And?" Stykkis smiled. "You're afraid of the Nova Cats?"

"Yes," Janice admitted. "I've heard the stories."

"I'll tell you something, da Sousa." Stykkis motioned at her braces. "A Wolf Elemental did this to me on Rasalhague in 3050. I've never forgiven them for it. I used to be a dancer, and now it takes me five minutes just to sit down. The Clans are tough bastards, and their 'Mechs are worse." To Janice's surprise, Stykkis reached out and flicked her brow. "So you've got to be tougher. They bleed red, da Sousa. Their 'Mechs aren't invincible. In fact, a lot of them have really thin armor. The Clans are all offense, no defense, and if you can get them on their heels, you can get them. And it's fun watching them go down. You scared? Don't sweat it. So are they."

"But the Clans don't feel fear…" Janice said.

"Who said that?" Stykkis demanded.

"I heard…"

"I heard Commander Arla-Vlata and me were once lesbian lovers," Stykkis countered with her sideways grin. "You believe that?"

"I…I don't…that's sort of…"

"Don't believe _everything_ you hear, da Sousa. Trust me. There's going to be some Nova Cats pissing their ejection seat just like you." Stykkis patted her shoulder again. "You're going to be fine. You're surrounded by people who have been through all this before. When you get into a fight, your training kicks in, and you don't even notice. Okay?"

Janice was far from convinced, but she nodded. "I guess so."

That got another flick of the brow. "Know so," Stykkis ordered. Then she grabbed Janice and forcibly kissed her on the lips. Janice nearly fell, but Stykkis rocked back on her braces. "There now!" she laughed. "Now you have something else to think about." Without effort, she pivoted on one brace and clicked away.

Janice was not sure what to do. People were staring at her. Burning with embarrassment, she walked back to where her lance was.


	12. Battle on the Flats

_Eden_

 _Virentofta, Smoke Jaguar Occupation Zone_

 _29 October 3056_

Janice da Sousa was not sure if lips could be bruised, but if they could, Mimi Stykkis had done it. Nonetheless, the other woman had been right: it had given her something to think about, namely on how someone as irreverent and possibly deranged as Stykkis made it to company command.

Those thoughts were gone now, but the icy hand of fear was back as Janice led the Kwik Killers into the town of Eden. Unlike its namesake, it looked far from idyllic: it was a dusty farm town, with one major street, built next to a superhighway. The residents there were turned out to watch Beta Battalion pass, but there were no cheers or waves. They just stared, which Janice found oddly disconcerting. She glanced around as she ordered her lance to skirt the town to the south. _No damage to the town, no evidence that the Clans abused these people…was this place too small for the Clans to worry about? Or maybe they collaborated?_

"Killer Six from Killer Two," John Ayl radioed. "Six, you're getting a bit far ahead."

Janice glanced down at her instrument panel and saw that she was a little ahead of her lance. "Ah, roger that, Killer Two. Thanks." She eased up on the pedals, and her _Wolverine_ slowed. Another quick glance showed Hideo Matsuta's _Cataphract_ lagging behind. "Killer Four from Six, you're falling behind. Close up."

"Ah, roger, Killer Six." Matsuda's voice sounded distracted, but the _Cataphract_ closed the distance.

She went through fields of wheat—fallow now, for winter—stepped gingerly over a farmer's fence, as there were orders not to unnecessarily damage private property, and before she knew it, they were at the Vingaard River. It was wide and sluggish, with low banks and some scattered groves of trees. To her left was Eden Bridge: heavy enough for 'Mechs to use, and a strategic point, but there was no opposition. She watched as Stykkis led across her own 79th Highlanders lance and the Line Chasseurs. "Plucker Six from Killer Six," she radioed on the company net. "Have arrived at Objective Alphonse."

"Roger, Killer Six," Stykkis replied, a little testily. "Don't just stand there; jump on across. Make for Objective Batou."

"Er, understood." Janice didn't radio the rest of her lance; she triggered her jumpjets and, despite weighing 55 tons, her _Wolverine_ leapt across the river. She winced when she realized that the 'Mech would not quite make it. It splashed down a few meters short of the bank. The _Wolverine_ sank into soft mud and she could feel the current tug at her 'Mech, but Janice was able to free herself easy enough. Though Ayl and Matsuda also came up short, but also waded out of the river, Halberd made the jump without even causing a ripple in the Vingaard. She waited for them, the _Whitworth's_ head moving from side to side as Halberd watched for any ambushes. When Janice reached the _Whitworth,_ Halberd waited and then resumed her normal marching position. Janice smiled, and took strength from the routine move; she remembered Stykkis' words to lean on her veterans.

"Plucker Six to Beta/2. Flankers out." Janice moved to obey Stykkis' orders. She turned her lance directly east as the center lances continued northeast. The company began to drift apart, but with occasional glances at her radar and visually, she kept Stykkis' _Crusader_ in sight. Her heart rate jumped when she spotted 'Mechs to the south of her, and her finger hovered over the radio button on her left joystick, but then she saw four _Centurions_ loping through the fields. It was Gnea Carabinera's Beta/3 company, led by her personal lance, the only lance in the entire Sentinels made up of a single type. She hesitantly raised the _Wolverine's_ PPC in greeting and couldn't help but smile when Carabinera raised a cannon arm in salute. _Veterans to either side of me,_ she thought to herself. _That does make me feel better. This is all routine for these guys._

Those thoughts quickly took backstage as Ayl's voice crackled in her headset. "Killer Six from Killer Two, spot report—smoke at eleven o'clock, on the ridge." Janice looked in that direction. Black smoke licked up from a small rise as the river valley gave way to rolling hills. Smoke that color was not natural. Her lance would reach it first. She needed to know what that was—the company needed to know, and the regiment. Janice knew she should do something, but she was not sure…

Then her brain started working, and she remembered her training. "Killer Three, take point. Let's check it out."

"Roger," Halberd replied. Her _Whitworth_ moved ahead of them, and Janice used hand signals with her 'Mech to slow her lance down a little. To her surprise, Carabinera's four _Centurions_ did the same, half a kilometer south. Carabinera was trusting _her_ , trusting Janice. She didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

Halberd reached the smoke and the top of the ridge. Janice half-expected a fusillade of laser fire or missiles, but nothing happened. "Killer Six from Three. All clear. Beagle's clean." That meant that Halberd's Beagle Active Probe had not picked up anything—the reason why Janice had sent her out on point. The Beagle was designed to pick up anything metallic within 120 meters. "Just some dead Elementals."

"Okay, roger," Janice told Halberd. "Resume advance." Once more, she waved them forward.

"Killer Six from Centurion Six," Carabinera called out. "One of the fighter pilots reported seeing a Point of Elementals here. That's probably them—or what's left of them." Janice acknowledged. It was probably unnecessary for Carabinera to tell her that, but the veteran probably said it to calm her nerves.

They passed over the five Elementals, or, as Carabinera had said, what was left of them. There wasn't much. It was hard to tell there were five battlesuits, since body parts were scattered over the black, smoking streak in the ground. Even to a novice like Janice, she knew what had happened: the Elementals had been falling back from the bridge and been caught in the open by a Sentinel aerofighter. One strafing run was all it took; the Nova Cats never had a chance, not on the exposed ridgeline.

* * *

They went down into another wide valley. It was still so quiet. Janice wasn't sure if she should be frightened or not. They were supposedly in the middle of a battle, but there was nothing happening. As they began to climb the next ridge, the radio suddenly came alive. "Jack Six to all Beta elements!" Kennedy's voice was high and excited. "Alpha's engaged with Nova Cat elements six klicks south of the city. Go to full speed; we'll catch 'em in the flank! General attack, repeat, general attack!"

 _General attack!_ The words sent an unexpected thrill up her spine. General attack meant that every 'Mech in Beta Battalion would accelerate to its top speed and close with the Nova Cats; lance integrity was secondary to speed. That was a problem for the Kwik Killers, because Janice's _Wolverine_ and Halberd's _Whitworth_ moved at the same speed, but Matsuta and Ayl's heavy 'Mechs both were slower.

"Killer Six to Killer Three," Janice ordered. "Throttle back. Let's let everyone else catch up." She expected an argument, but the _Whitworth_ slowed and Halberd came back with a terse "Roger." They topped the ridge and Janice's breath caught in her throat.

She had seen and heard the battles on Thorin from a distance, but never like this. Spread out from the low ridge was a group of empty salt flats, broken up by rows of trees and fallow wheatfields; in the distance was the city of Vingaard Keep. Black smoke curled up from spots in the city, but it looked otherwise intact. To her left was the wide Vingaard River. Ahead, over the salt flats, was the battle.

It looked like a holovid. Two lines of 'Mechs were marching forward, headed east, smothered in black smoke from fires and white smoke from missile trails; it had to be Alpha Battalion's heavies and assaults. Ahead of them were scattered groups of 'Mechs in full retreat; which had to be the Nova Cats. Between them were burning wrecks. Beta Battalion was below the ridge, running pell-mell into the Nova Cats' flank. Already missiles, red laser bolts, and blue PPC shots were reaching out for the Clans. Halberd's _Whitworth_ turned towards her, and though Janice could not see Halberd through the cockpit windows, she could have sworn the other MechWarrior was saying _Shall we?_

The Kwik Killers made their way down the ridge. Janice lost sight of the battle quickly; smoke obscured it. They were probably going to be late; now she understood Kennedy's general attack order. The Nova Cats were too fast, and a pell-mell attack was Beta's only chance of catching them. _I can't see anything in this,_ Janice thought. Her radar was a mess of contacts. "Killer Six to Killer elements. Cut east; let's get out on the flank." The lance acknowledged and moved east. The smoke cleared, but Janice knew that her turn had taken the Kwik Killers out of the battle entirely.

"Killer Three to Killer Six. Contact, one o'clock, 120 meters," Halberd radioed.

Janice looked in that direction; there was nothing there but a ravine, what the locals called a coulee. "Okay. Killers, let's see what that is. Close to contact."

The lance moved forward cautiously. Janice got there first, and nearly got her head taken off for her troubles as a Gauss bullet sailed past the _Wolverine_ so close she could see it. "Oh shit!" she yelled. " _Mad Cat! Mad Cat!"_ She triggered her jumpjets and sailed over the coulee.

It was most definitely a _Mad Cat,_ what the Clans themselves called a _Timber Wolf,_ and the most iconic Clan OmniMech in existence. It was no less frightening for its well-known appearance. Janice could see that the 'Mech was damaged, however, its left leg twisted at an odd angle, rents in its armor, and one of its missile launchers wrecked and hanging forlornly along the 'Mech's side. She thought about calling for reinforcements, but then considered: her lance could probably take the _Mad Cat_ themselves, if they used their heads. "Killers from Killer Six! Killer Two, engage the _Mad Cat_ from the front and I'll take it in the left flank! Killer Four, come up to support Two! Three, get behind him!"

"All over that!" Halberd sang out, the happiest Janice had ever heard her. Ayl merely said, "On it," and marched his _Thunderbolt_ up to the coulee's lip. A PPC bolt from the _Mad Cat_ splashed against his chest armor, but Ayl barely reacted. Instead, he fired back a Gauss shell that took the Nova Cat just below its glasshouse cockpit. The Omni rocked, then rocked some more when LRMs spiraled into it. The Clan 'Mech's return missile fire went wide.

Janice could see Halberd jumping high, to get in behind the _Mad Cat;_ of Masuta there was no sign. _My turn,_ she thought. The crosshairs on her HUD settled onto the Nova Cat's side, where there was already a gaping hole, and she squeezed the trigger. Blue PPC fire leapt into the hole, and there was a puff of white smoke and black coolant sprayed from the hit like blood. _That's a heat sink or two gone!_ Her secondary display showed a spike of heat from the _Mad Cat_. It turned in her direction, and she dodged the PPC; two medium lasers carved curlicues into her chest armor, but there was still plenty. She sent a flight of SRMs towards the _Mad Cat,_ more for moral effect than anything else, as they missed by a wide margin. Another flight of LRMs from Ayl blasted away what was left of the _Mad Cat's_ left side armor.

Then Halberd opened fire. She was directly behind the _Mad Cat,_ and the Clan MechWarrior had not seen her, which gave her a precious few seconds to aim. A large laser and two medium lasers melted through the rear armor and the _Mad Cat_ suddenly lurched forward, stumbled, and crashed down onto its side. Halberd then stepped forward, reared backwards, and delivered a savage kick to the _Mad Cat's_ side. When the _Whitworth's_ foot drew back, it left sparking circuitry and crushed interior structure behind.

Janice added another PPC shot and Ayl another Gauss that took off a leg. The _Mad Cat's_ right arm raised, but did not fire: instead, it waved back and forth. "Sentinel MechWarriors! Sentinel MechWarriors!" a voice broke into the open frequency. "This is the _Timber Wolf!_ Your prisoner! Your prisoner! Cease firing! My gyro is gone!"

"Killer elements, cease fire! Cease fire!" Janice shouted. She climbed her _Wolverine_ into the coulee and approached the _Mad Cat._ Halberd stood over the downed Clan 'Mech, her arms pointed down, ready to fire directly into the cockpit. Janice watched as the overhead hatch on the _Mad Cat_ opened and a MechWarrior climbed out. The helmet came off and Janice could see the MechWarrior was male; as she zoomed in, she saw three daggerstars on his shoulders. _My God, he's a Star Colonel!_ He raised his hands.

"Stay there," Janice ordered over her loudspeakers, then switched frequencies. "Killer Six to Plucker Six." She saw Matsuta finally arrive on the lip of the coulee. "Contact report. One _Mad Cat_ destroyed, prisoner taken. He's a Star Colonel, over."

There was a pause. Stykkis sounded a little breathless when she came on the net. "Killer Six, Plucker Six. You sure?"

"A hundred percent, Plucker."

"Condition of your lance?"

"Minor damage only."

"Well then! Nicely done, Killer Six. Stay at your position until I can get some infantry over your way. If that Clanner tries to run off, grease him."

"Roger, understood." Janice knew that it was not quite military protocol, but she had to know. "How's the battle going, Plucker Six?"

"Killer Six, the battle is going fucking awesome, repeat, fucking awesome. The Cats are running for the hills. We've got this sumbitch won." Stykkis laughed and signed off.

Janice leaned back in her seat. Her first battle was over. Her lance was practically undamaged, she was unhurt, and they had scored a kill. Someone would probably have to look over the paperwork, but Halberd would probably at least get a half score out of it. True, the _Mad Cat_ was already crippled, and the Star Colonel was probably hiding in the coulee until he could limp back to his unit, but a kill was a kill. It was not a bad start at all.

"Killer Three to Killer Six." Halberd was sending her a tightbeam message.

"Go, Three."

"You wet your seat?"

Janice looked down, just to check. She laughed with the sheer thrill of survival. "Nope, Killer Three. Dry seat."

"That's good. You did fine, Six. I was going to ask for a transfer if you turned out to be a candy ass, but…you'll do. Killer Three out."

It was the best compliment Janice da Sousa had ever received.


	13. The Dragon Rests

_Vingaard Keep_

 _Virentofta, Smoke Jaguar Occupation Zone_

 _29 October 3056_

Sheila Arla-Vlata stood atop what the locals called Hospital Hill. It was the tallest promontory in the city of Vingaard Keep. She looked east with her binoculars, over the city, and the plains beyond…and what she saw was good.

Max Canis-Vlata walked up to her. "Alpha and Beta Battalions reporting in. All Clan elements in full retreat. Kennedy asks if you want him to pursue." Behind Max was Frederick Matria, the regimental communications officer. On his back was a compack, a radio set that was tied into the Sentinels' regimental net, and could broadcast to every Sentinel within thirty kilometers.

Sheila turned her binoculars to the southeast. Beta had tried to snap the trap shut on the Nova Cats by taking them in the flank, but aside from a handful of cripples and Elementals too slow to escape, the 4th Nova Cat Guards made good their escape. They would probably be reforming at a line of low mountains, about forty or so kilometers distant. Beta and Alpha Battalions had gotten intermingled, but she could still order a pursuit with everything that could keep up with the speedy Clanfolk. The Sentinels were trained to form ad hoc lances when formations broke down, as they usually did in battle.

Still, there was risk involved. Sheila did not know anything about the 4th Guards' commander, but the Nova Cats were retreating in good if ragged order. A pursuit could run squarely into a moving ambush. Aside from Alpha/3, Alpha Battalion was too slow to keep up, and the Snowbirds were still north of the river and the city. Gamma, as instructed, was moving into a blocking position in the mountains south of Eden. Ceta and Delta were still crossing the river, and Clan Sentinel—much to Senefa Malthus' dismay—was still in its DropShip, on the way down. Beta would be on its own, in terrain that the Sentinels did not know, but the Nova Cats did.

Sheila put down the binoculars, let them dangle from their straps on her breasts. "Negative. Do not pursue. Police up any stragglers and form a defensive line east of Vingaard Keep. Tell Mike Whelan and Alpha to take up position to Beta's left. Hold Tessya and the Snowbirds north of the city, and keep Gamma at Eden for now. Everyone else goes in reserve. Tell Martin to put in a few strafing runs on the Cats; keep them honest." Her deliberation had taken two minutes. _Of course,_ Sheila thought to herself, _either I've just done something brilliant and avoided an ambush, or I've done something incredibly stupid and let a beaten enemy get away._ Every commander knew the examples from history where pursuit might have finished a campaign or even won a war, but for myriad reasons, was never done. Those examples usually got pilloried.

 _Oh well._ Sheila doubted anyone would even hear about Virentofta. The Nova Cats were caught by surprise and routed, and the Smoke Jaguars—if intel and what few air passes she had gotten down that way were correct—were still beyond the higher mountains to the south. In another day, she would have nearly two more regiments onplanet with the Waco Rangers, the Scavengers and the Lightning Battalion, plus whatever survivors of Ryuken-ni were left. Added to the Sentinels' two regiments of effectives, that would give her nearly four regiments to play with. Not even the Clans, not even the Smoke Jaguars would readily accept odds of four to two. The Clans would probably leave, regroup, and try and retake the planet later. If not, Sheila was happy to oblige if they wanted to fight.

Matria sent out the orders and got acknowledgements. He winced. Sheila raised an eyebrow and Matria smiled wryly. "That last one was Senefa. She's pissed. Can't believe she missed the party. She's requesting a combat drop behind the Nova Cats."

"No way. Tell her to come in to the north with the Snowbirds," Sheila ordered. "If she gets stroppy, I'll talk to her."

Matria nodded. "Okay, but don't be surprised if she challenges you to a Circle of Equals or something." He moved the mouthpiece back up to send the order.

Max had waited patiently. "By the way," he informed his wife, " _Tai-sa_ Kitakyushu is in the hospital right over there. He wants to see you."

"Right." There had been a quick meeting with a _Chu-sa_ , one of Kitakyushu's battalion commanders, when the Sentinels landed—which amounted to little more than the _Chu-sa_ telling Sheila where the Ryuken's positions were, and to thank Buddha and all the Shinto gods that the Sentinels were there. The _Chu-sa_ had mentioned that Kitakyushu was wounded, but there had been no time to inquire further.

They walked down the hill as the sky began to turn pinkish; the sun was beginning to set in the western mountains. Vingaard Keep, Sheila had noticed, was in a bowl: only to the north were there not snowcapped mountains visible. They were not the high, soaring peaks of Thorin or even her homeworld of Grunwald, but they were still mountains, formidable in their own right. A good day was turning into a rather pleasant evening, with just enough of a bite in the air to remind one that Virentofta was in the middle of its winter. After the stale, recycled air of a DropShip or the humidity of Luthien, the cool air felt good. Sheila's right hand—her remaining flesh-and-blood one—sought out Max's left. The two held hands as they crossed a street and headed for the hospital entrance.

* * *

Inside was somewhat chaotic. The hospital was packed to capacity with Ryuken wounded and those citizens of Vingaard Keep that were hit in the crossfire; Sheila also spotted the uniforms of the Virentofta Militia, which were mismatched hunting camouflage and Kurita-issue helmets and pants. She made a note of that; the Virentofta Militia would be valuable allies. They knew the ground. She'd have to find their commander soon.

A doctor spotted her and Max, and walked over. " _Tai-sa_ Arla-Vlata?" He was a short man of Indian descent, with thick glasses. "I'm Doctor Bishan Chawla, the head doctor here. I assume you speak English."

"Yes, Doctor—and it's Commander." Sheila disengaged her hand from Max's and shook hands with Chawla.

"Ah, very well, Commander. If you'll follow me… _Tai-sa_ Kitakyushu just got out of the ICU."

Sheila shared a glance with Max as they followed Chawla. "I didn't realize he had been hit that bad."

"Twice, actually," Chawla replied. "He was forced to eject from his 'Mech at their battle north of here—at Benton Lake. He broke his arm then. His command post was hit by an artillery strike just before you arrived. I'm afraid he's in a bad way, but he should pull through. We may have to evacuate him offplanet, though. I'm afraid Virentofta, out here on the edge of the Periphery, isn't up to Luthien standards in healthcare."

"How bad are your casualties?" Max asked.

Chawla shrugged. "The Ryuken and the Militia took the worst of it. Both hospitals here in town are full to capacity—but now that you're here, and no more wounded are coming in, we are getting ahead of it."

"Anything we can do to help?"

"Your quartermaster already is cleaning out your DropShips with fresh supplies—sorry, I don't recall her name, but she's tall and bald. As I said, we should be all right, now." Max smothered a laugh at that. The Sentinels did not have a quartermaster, per se, but it was clear that Nicia Caii had not waited for orders from Sheila or Max to begin helping the locals.

Chawla led them to an elevator, then up two floors. Two burly Kurita infantrymen waited outside a room. They noticed the diamonds on Sheila's shoulderboards and snapped to attention. Sheila returned the salute, but Chawla halted them before they could go in. "One moment, Commander. The _Tai-sa_ is in a great deal of pain. He has refused anesthesia until he could talk to you. Please, for the man's sake, make it brief." He looked at Sheila's gray overcoat, which could use a wash. "Don't touch anything, either."

"I'll wait out here," Max said. The room was small, and the guards seemed nervous enough as it was.

* * *

Sheila went in with Chawla. She remembered Masayoshi Kitakyushu from Kagoshima, when Ryuken-ni had saved the Snowbirds from destruction at the hands of the Smoke Jaguars. Kitakyushu was tall for a Kuritan, with a waistline he fought to keep under control, and an easy laugh, she recalled.

The man in the diagnostic bed was still tall, but he looked shrunken. His skin had a grayish cast, he was hooked up to a number of machines and an IV drip, and his neck was in a brace. Sheila could see under the covers the outline of a regeneration cast on his leg. Two nurses and another Kuritan guard, all swathed in surgical greens, hovered nearby.

As soon as Sheila got close to the bed, Kitakyushu's eyes opened. They were bright with pain and exhaustion. Nonetheless, he smiled up at Sheila. "Hello, Sheila. It appears you get to save me this time."

"Just repaying a debt, _Tai-sa."_

"Masayoshi," he corrected her. "It's…Masayoshi." He moved a little in the bed, and flinched. "Sorry to be so informal. Despite my wishes, the nurses there, they gave me something for the pain. I can't say I'm angry." Before Sheila could ask, he weakly motioned at his body. "Broken leg, fractured vertebra in my neck, broken left arm, torn quadricep, internal injuries, and it seems I'll be doing without a spleen for awhile. I should be up and running in six weeks or so." He laughed at that absurdity; Kitakyushu would be lucky to be up and around in six months.

Sheila smiled at the man. Kitakyushu was not just fighting the pain; he was fighting the soporific effects of the anaesthesia. "Why don't you rest, Masayoshi," she told him. "I've got this. The Sentinels are here and the Nova Cats ran for the hills east of the city. The Jaguars are still far to the south. With us and the other units coming in over the next few days, Virentofta is ours."

"Ah." Kitakyushu's smile widened; the morphine was starting to hit. "That's very good. This Nova Cat commander, this Galaxy Commander Theodore Kellermann, he's rather good." His smile faded, and Sheila thought for a moment that Kitakyushu was going to cry. "My poor Ryuken…Kellermann tore us apart at Benton Lake." He suddenly sat up in bed, his eyes wide. "My Ryuken!"

Despite Chawla's wishes, Sheila put her hands on Kitakyushu's bare chest and gently pushed him back down into the bed. "Masayoshi, they're fine! I'm here, we're here, they're fine!" Frantically she tried to remember the _Chu-sa's_ name. " _Chu-sa_ Powell is a good man. He can command in your absence." _At least, I hope he can,_ she added to herself.

Kitakyushu's smile returned as he blissfully began to sink back into the pillows. "Powell, yes…Logan is a good man, at that, and you are a good woman, Sheila…take care of my people, will you?"

"Of course, Masayoshi. You get some rest, now." Chawla was motioning his head towards the door, and Sheila got the none-too-subtle hint. "I need to go and organize the defenses. We'll talk again when you're feeling better."

As she turned to go, however, Kitakyushu's uninjured hand suddenly grabbed her metal one, and gripped hard enough for her to feel it. In surprise, Sheila turned to him. Kitakyushu, in a supreme effort of will, had broken through the fog of pain and painkillers; his eyes were still bright, but there was no smile and no hint of the drifting man of a second before. "Wait, Sheila! You don't know. You don't know!"

"Don't know what? What is it, Masayoshi?"

He dragged her close. "Please, Sheila. You must get off Virentofta. You must get my people offplanet—yours too. And warn off the other units."

Sheila looked at him, but as far as she could tell, Kitakyushu was not raving. "Why? Masayoshi, we can take two Clusters."

"There's not two," he said. He was actually biting his lip in an effort to stay conscious. "There's five. There's five Clan Clusters on Virentofta." Then his grip faded and Kitakyushu collapsed backwards onto the bed. His breathing slowed as finally the morphine sent him into painless unconsciousness.


	14. We Fight

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I originally had about another three paragraphs, but I like how this came together. Hope you do too. I've actually had this scene rattling around in my head for almost 20 years now-with the exception of the last few lines, which actually were inspired by just watching John Adams while getting inspired to write. The muse works in mysterious ways..._

 _The College of Vingaard Keep_

 _Virentofta, Smoke Jaguar Occupation Zone_

 _29 October 3056_

Sheila Arla-Vlata hesitated before she walked into the conference room the Sentinels had appropriated for a meeting place. The people of Vingaard Keep were grateful for their liberation, and generously allowed the Sentinels their college as a command post. It was centrally located with plenty of room. She took a moment to look through the door as steathily as she could, at the people she knew, barely knew, loved and loathed, and yet she would depend on them as they depended on her.

First her battalion commanders. Her mind automatically catalogued them in order of command. Michael Whelan, tow-headed and quiet, sitting in an overstuffed chair, the unassuming and yet brilliant commander of Alpha Battalion. Johnathan Kennedy of Beta Battalion, with his ridiculous blonde mustache and goatee, laughing at a joke around a cigar. Marion Markat-Vehm, commander of Ceta Battalion's tanks, smiled back politely but still stood aloof from the others; the former Davion noblewoman kept to herself. Hunnar Dochendal of Delta Battalion, thickly bearded and chewing his pipe, a long way from the Magistracy of Canopus, listened intently to Tessya Blackthorn, commander of the Snowbirds SMCAT; Tessya was explaining something with her hands, her lustrous black hair split with a single downward-facing eagle feather. Rissa Rowley, Gamma's commander, paced up and down by the window and occasionally glanced at the darkness outside—not nervous, just impatient. Senefa Malthus wore her old Star Colonel's jacket with three red daggerstars on one shoulder, and stood and stared into the fireplace. Behind her was the muscular infantrywoman Mikkansia Jackson, in low conversation with the only person in the room taller than she was, Master Tech Nicia Caii, who ran a three-fingered hand over her bald pate. Martin St. Mawgan, the Sentinels' Aerowing commander, was still in his flight suit, and also paced, but more slowly, trying to get out the kinks in his back.

Then there were the newcomers. The woman in the blue jumpsuit and a shock of wild red hair was Seloy Deparra, commander of the infamous Scavengers, who looked rather surly and upset, but who also listened to Tessya. Standing apart from the Sentinels as a whole was Wayne Waco, whose Rangers had just arrived; Waco's red beard was going to gray, and his trademark cowboy hat rested on one of the chairs. Leaning against one wall was Justin Keith, the commander of the Virentofta Militia; he looked more confident than he probably felt. Then there was Logan Powell, who commanded what was left of Ryuken-ni: he was actually asleep in one of the recliners. Sheila did not begrudge the man his rest; his stained and rumpled uniform and hollow eyes betrayed a man who needed it.

And then, finally, there was Steven Broughton. He had changed only somewhat since Sheila had seen him in the courtroom six years previously. The face was leaner, more strained-looking—more lines than there should be in a man who was not much older than she was. The black hair was shading to gray as well. He looked fit enough in a rather snappy black uniform edged with red. Hate welled up in Sheila's throat: this was the man, then, who had tried to break her as a scapegoat, ruin her as a coward, and nearly destroy her career over pride. She knew it was more complicated than that, and the logical part of her mind reminded Sheila that she herself was not exactly innocent in their shared history, but right now she could not overcome her distaste.

Jackson's black eyes flicked over to her and she snapped to. "Attention on deck! Commander present." The conversation ceased instantly, as the Sentinels came to attention; Whelan fairly leapt out of his chair. As Sheila walked in, she saw Powell blearily open his eyes and struggle to his feet.

Sheila walked into the room and took a place in the center where she could address them all. "Hello, everyone. Sorry I'm running a little late—I couldn't find a holoprojector that worked."

"Welcome to the Periphery," Kennedy grinned. He caught Dochendal's dirty look, and amended, "The _near_ Periphery." He took the cigar from his mouth and threw it into the fire, since he knew Sheila did not like the smell. Dochendal's pipe, on the other hand, filled the room with a strangely pleasant aroma.

"But I got a map," Sheila said, and put it down on the table. "Now you guys want the good news or the bad news first?"

"We gotta wait for it?" Rowley snapped.

"Bad news," Senefa answered, with a sidelong glance at Rowley.

"Well, there's no way to sugar-coat this," Sheila sighed. "You guys probably heard the rumors. Kurita intel was wrong, way wrong. There's five Clan Clusters onplanet—three Nova Cat, two Smoke Jaguar."

Silence reigned, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Tessya was the one to break it. "Holy shit," she said.

"Jesus," Waco intoned. "Five? You sure?"

"I can confirm that, Colonel," Keith told him.

"As can I," Powell added. "They bidded to see which Cluster would have the honor of tearing into us."

"Which ones?" This from Whelan.

"From the Nova Cats," Sheila said, glancing at a notes made on the map, "we have the 4th Nova Cat Guards—we fought them this afternoon—the 274th Battle Cluster, and the 119th Striker Cluster. All frontline, all Omnis, all trueborn. The Jags have the 4th and 7th Jaguar Dragoons—second-line, with modded Star League designs, with a mix of freebirths, disgraced trueborns, and older Bloodnamed officers." Sheila tapped on the map. "The 4th Guards and 274th Battle pulled back to Stanford, here, about a hundred kilometers east of where we're standing. The 119th is coming up from what appears to be the Clans' main supply base at the city of Sanction, about eight hundred kilometers to the southeast." She glanced at Keith for affirmation; the militiaman nodded. "The Jaguars are both sitting down at the planetary capital of Helena, 180 klicks due south.

"As far as we can tell, the Nova Cats are under the overall command of a Galaxy Commander Theodore Kellermann." Sheila looked up at Senefa. "Heard of him?"

"I have, but you will not like what I have heard." Senefa leaned against the fireplace. "He is regarded as an exceptional commander by the Nova Cats and a feared and skillful opponent by other Clans he has faced."

"Great," Markat-Vehm moaned. "Just once, it would be nice to get an idiot."

"The Jags don't really have an overall commander," Sheila continued, "but the CO of the 7th Dragoons is Siekara Osis." Another look at Senefa, who shook her head; she had not heard of him.

"I can help you there." Powell stepped closer to Sheila, and rubbed his face to try and fully wake up. "He used to be a Galaxy Commander too, but got disgraced on Luthien. Intel didn't have much on him, other than he didn't do all that well on Tukayyid either. He's not considered exceptional—but not quite an idiot either." He threw Markat-Vehm a wry smile; it was not returned.

"I can handle average," Kennedy chuckled.

"What are five Clusters even _doing_ here on East Bumfuck, Near Periphery?" Rowley demanded.

It was Powell that answered. "It seems that Star Colonel Osis' reputation as being 'average' preceded him. He had been having some problems with the locals—"

"In that he was rounding up people and throwing them into camps," Keith interrupted angrily.

"—and the Nova Cats decided that they'd just take Virentofta away from the Smoke Jaguars. I doubt their reasons were altruistic; they just can't stand each other," Powell finished.

"But your intel fucked up," Waco said. "Big time."

Powell shrugged. "I won't deny it. My guess is that the ISF heard that there was a Nova Cat cluster onplanet and figured it made up one of the two of the known garrison clusters on Virentofta. The Cats haven't been here more than two or three weeks longer than we have. Anyhow, they arrived after Colonel Keith's people managed to smuggle a message offworld for help."

"Osis threatened to start shooting prisoners if the resistance—the militia—didn't disband. There was no way we could stop him." Keith sighed. "I am truly sorry, ladies and sirs. We would've never sent that message if we knew Kellermann was coming."

"Surprised Kellermann didn't just rip you guys apart with a full-court press." Deparra had a high, nasal voice that Sheila decided was very irritating.

"No, he politely asked us what our forces were, then he and Osis had a bidding war that they let us listen in on—to make sure it was fair." Another shrug from Powell. "He won by bidding a single Cluster, the 274th. Then Kellermann asked _Tai-sa_ Kitakyushu where he would like the battle to take place. We chose Benton Lake, about 12 kilometers north of Vingaard Keep, where we landed. Well…you know how that turned out."

"Where did the 4th Guards come from then, if he only bid one Cluster?" Jackson asked.

"When the _Tai-sa_ sent out a HPG message for assistance—the Militia seized the Vingaard station the same day Ryuken-ni grounded—the Clans intercepted it. Kellermann declared that we had 'broken our bid,' but would only commit the 4th Guards." Powell laughed softly. "Hardly fair. The 274th had already shot us up so badly…" His voice trailed off into the silence.

This time, it was broken by Waco. "Well, no offense to any of you folk, and pardon my French if you're religious but…let's get the fuck offplanet. No way we can take on five Clusters. I think even Teddy Kurita will understand. Again, no offense."

Kennedy laughed. "I ain't offended, Colonel. I agree. Let's make our hat and get the hell out of Dodge." There were a few more nods, Sheila noticed. Rowley scowled; Sheila caught just the slightest flicker of the same expression on Senefa's face.

"No," Sheila said, with a smile.

The single word caught them offguard. It took a moment to register. Deparra blinked. "What did you say?" she asked.

"We're not leaving."

"What the shit?" Waco exclaimed. "We ain't leaving?"

"I say we stay and fight it out." Sheila straightened up and folded her arms across her breasts. There it was, the strategy she and Max had thought of as they left the hospital.

Again, there was what writers might call a pregnant pause. It was Tessya who spoke first again. "Beg pardon, Sheila," she said, "but that's suicide."

Deparra nodded vigorously. "Big Chief Tess heap big right. I'm not ready to go to the Happy Hunting Grounds just yet, and that's where we're going if we stay here."

"I'm not big," Tessya said. She was used to the jokes.

"No, it's not," Sheila insisted. "Hear me out—"

"No fucking way!" Waco shouted. "God Almighty, Arla-Vlata! _Three_ frontline Clusters would tear us apart, and you want to pick a fight with _five_? I've heard stories about those so-called second-line Clusters too—and the Smoke Jags not really being all that fond of taking prisoners." He turned to Broughton. "Shit, Colonel. I thought you had her court-martialed for insubordination, not insanity." Broughton did not reply, and just fixed Waco with a glare of utter contempt.

"Now that's enough." Nicia Caii was closest, and she took one stride towards Waco. Waco was not a small man, but Caii towered over him. He was not intimidated, but turned to a red-faced Sheila. "I'm sorry, Commander. I admit that was out of line. But still!"

"But still," Sheila replied, "we're staying."

"No," Waco told her, " _you're_ staying." He picked up his hat and put it on. "I'm not going to see my boys get ripped apart because you got something to prove. If I wanted to take on five of anything, I'd invade Outreach and take on the goddamn Dragoons. We're loading up on our DropShips and getting the fuck out of here."

"You'll break contract if you do," Powell warned.

"Shit on that," Waco shot back. "Nothing in my contract saying that I have to get my regiment wiped out—or that Sheila gives the orders. Hell, she don't even have seniority." Waco grinned. "Actually, if we go by age and date of rank, _I_ have seniority. And I order everyone else to pack up too." He looked at Keith. "We'll fit as many of your folks as we can, sir."

"Actually…she _does_ have seniority," Powell said. "According to the message sent to us by the Coordinator of the Draconis Combine Theodore Kurita, Commander Sheila Anna Arla-Vlata, commanding Sentinels RCAT, was named by the Dragon on Luthien as second-in-command of the Virentofta Expedition, behind _Tai-sa_ Masayoshi Kitakyushu. With the _Tai-sa_ incapacitated and due to be evacuated offplanet, Commander Arla-Vlata is now commander of the Virentofta Expedition, and all units within." Sheila's jaw nearly dropped.

Waco opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and opened it again. "Then we're breaking contract. All of you can go to hell—the Waco Rangers are going to Galatea." He pulled down the brim of his cowboy hat, gave them all a last dismissive shake of the head, and stalked out.

"Want me to arrest him?" Jackson asked Sheila.

"No. We'd be at war with his Rangers, and that we can't afford. Just let him go." Sheila sat down in Whelan's vacated chair, and suppressed a sigh. The Waco Rangers were a good quarter of her forces. "Well," she said, "I guess that leaves us. Lieutenant Colonel Deparra?"

Deparra blew out her breath. "Not sure I even have a voice here, Commander. My Scavengers won't even be here for another month. I hitched a ride on one of the Ryuken's supply DropShips—me and my Command Lance. Our JumpShip blew a helium seal at Wolcott."

"I'm sure Colonel Waco can give you a lift."

Deparra ran her hands through her hair. "Let me hear your plan first."

"Okay. _Chu-sa_ Powell, given your speech there, I assume you don't have much choice but to stay."

"That's correct, Commander."

"My middle name is Allegra, by the way." Sheila turned to Keith. "And this is your home, Colonel—but Osis still has those hostages."

"We fight, Commander." Keith's mouth was a hard line.

Sheila tried to keep the sour look off her face as she came to Broughton. "And you, Colonel—"

Broughton said only two words: "We stay."

"All…all right, then." Sheila was surprised. Now she turned to her commanders. "I want your approval on this too, people. I'm not just going to order you to do this, okay? That's not fair. Colonel Waco might be right; I might be out of my damn mind for even considering this."

Dochendal took the pipe out of his mouth. "Let's hear what you have to say, Sheila."

Sheila's hands went over the map, pointing out terrain features, rivers, mountain ranges, passes. She went over weather projections and reports; what they knew about the five Clan Clusters—which was a surprising amount, as Star Colonel Stephen Leroux, captured earlier in the day, was rather talkative—and supply projections. She spoke clearly and with conviction. When she was finished, Sheila sat back in the chair. "And I think—I know—we can win this. Questions?"

To her surprise, it was Whelan who spoke first, and Mike Whelan never spoke first. "Just one from me. Why are we doing this?"

"Because it's our job," Sheila answered. There were other factors, some of which she had already pointed out: there was a good chance the Smoke Jaguars would massacre the planet's population if they left, all of the Inner Sphere units were veterans, there were a lot of advantages they had, and the Ryuken had already given the Nova Cats, at least, a bloody nose. And there was that little tiny voice that Sheila would never admit to, that no one had ever taken on five Clan Clusters with three regiments before. All of them were too experienced not have heard it themselves, of course, which was why Sheila now wanted to hear from them, her battalion commanders, her friends, her soldiers.

"Good enough for me," Whelan said, and Sheila knew he was a yes.

"John?" she asked.

Kennedy grinned under the goatee, which was answer enough.

"Marion?"

Markat-Vehm sat down heavily. "It's a terrible idea and we're all probably going to get killed, and the history books will say Wayne Waco was right, and we were damn fools for staying." She chuckled. "So we'd better win, because I really don't want my epitaph to be 'Wayne Waco was right.' I'm in."

"Hunnar?"

Dochendal was stoking the pipe back to life and blew out blue smoke. "I have reservations, Commander, but we shall do this."

"Fair enough. Tessya?"

"Ugh. Moderately Sized Chief Tessya count coup on Boo Boo Kitties. How and all that stuff." Tessya snorted at Deparra, who barked out a cackle. "Snowbirds are in."

"Rissa—"

"Hell yes, Gamma's in. When do we attack?" Rowley almost shouted.

"Senefa?"

Senefa looked almost disgusted. "You even have to ask?"

Sheila smiled. "Sorry. Didn't want you to feel left out. Mikkansia?"

"Of course." Sheila was sure that if she had ordered Jackson to take Terra with just her Sentinel Light Infantry battalion, the tall woman would do it.

"Nicia?"

Caii looked surprised. "Sheila, I'm just a tech."

"You're the Master Tech of this regiment, and apparently my new quartermaster. I want your opinion, Nicia."

Caii spread her hands. "Well, you're going to tear up my 'Mechs, my tanks, and my aerofighters, but yeah, sure."

Sheila's smile widened. The Sentinels' equipment was the techs' property, as far as they were concerned; the MechWarriors, tankers and pilots just rented them. "Martin?"

St. Mawgan smoothed his handlebar mustache, without which no male fighter pilot was complete. "Shouldn't be no strain, Sheila. We've already got the Clanners outnumbered two to one in the air."

Now Sheila turned to the four non-Sentinels. "Anyone change their mind?" Suddenly Sheila wanted to be on first-name basis with these men. "Logan, Justin, Steven?" No one changed their mind. Finally, there was Deparra. "Seloy?"

Deparra nodded slowly. "Again, the Scavengers won't be here for another month, but…I'll tell my boys and girls to get to work on those helium seals, Sheila. If you're right, and win this, and we're not here? All that Clantech going to waste? My boys and girls would shoot me. Count us in."

It was unanimous. Once more, a final time, they fell into silence. Sheila stared at the ceiling. If she was wrong, she had just condemned thousands of people to death. The Sentinels, the Scavengers, the Lightning Battalion, what was left of Ryuken-ni, and possibly even most of the population of Virentofta would be destroyed. A thought came unbidden to her, and she said it aloud, softly: "'With a firm reliance on Divine Providence, we pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.'"

"What was that?" Kennedy asked.

"Oh…something I read somewhere once." Sheila couldn't remember where she _had_ read it, but it sounded right.

They would take Virentofta.


	15. Snowbound

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Whew. Sorry it took so long. Updates are going to be pretty few for awhile; this is the busiest semester I've had in years. Anyway, enjoy...I am not giving up on this fic, fear not!_

 _Belt_

 _Virentofta, Draconis Combine_

 _30 October 3056_

"You know…this is kind of a pretty planet."

John Ayl looked at Janice da Sousa, then at the mountains around them. "It's okay."

She laughed. Janice was actually feeling pretty good, still on the high from the Battle of Gibson Flats. It came with the confidence that she could command a lance and fight it, with the support of the three other people in it. With the exception of Hideo Matsuta, she knew she could rely on them too, and grew to enjoy their company. Ayl was as gregarious as he always had been, and Halberd—now that she was convinced that Janice wasn't a "candy ass"—was loosening up as well. As for Matsuta, he would come around eventually.

As for Virentofta, it was growing on her. She had only been to a handful of planets, and most of them were like Virentofta: temperate, occasionally cold, with a lot of forests and mountains. True, Virentofta was more primitive—internal combustion engines and coal were still the main energy sources out here—but, like Halberd, the people were starting to loosen up a bit as well. Beta Battalion had been deployed to Belt, an incongrously named town about sixty kilometers east of Vingaard Keep, where the Sentinels had established their headquarters. They had just moved into Belt this morning, and the people greeted them warmly. Belt was down in a valley, with high mountains all around…and it had snowed overnight. Janice liked the snow.

"You know what this is all about?" Ayl asked.

"Yeah. Mimi's giving us a briefing as to what exactly we're facing and what we're going to be doing," she answered.

"You believe the rumors that there's five Clan Clusters onplanet?"

Janice blew out her breath, which crystallized in front of her. The temperature was just above freezing. "We know there's at least three."

"I don't know if we can take on five." Ayl shrugged. "But what the hell. If the Snowbird's game, I guess I am too."

Janice smiled at him. "That and I think we shoot deserters in this regiment."

"There is that."

* * *

Mimi Stykkis had ordered twelve out of sixteen of her MechWarriors to attend the briefing; one out of every four in each lance would stay behind with the 'Mechs. Halberd had volunteered to stay back for the Kwik Killers; Matsuta told Janice he would meet them at the briefing. Despite the cold, it was being held outside, behind the local school: Belt was so small that there wasn't an auditorium big enough, for Beta/3 would be there as well.

There was another reason for the outdoor brief, as they learned when they reached the playground. Beta/3's commander, Gnea Carabinera, had built a sand table. Or rather, a snow table. She stood legs apart in the center of the map. Mimi Stykkis rested on a swing to one side, her crutches jammed into the snow like ski poles.

They waited for a few more minutes, as the wet cold began to seep through the thick winter coats and pants they wore. No one was hardcore enough to stand out in the snow in cooling vest and shorts. After awhile, everyone who was supposed to be present was, and Carabinera got started.

"All right, everyone, listen up," she began. "I'm not going to sugarcoat this for you. The rumors you've heard are true. There's five Clusters onplanet." She paused to let the MechWarriors murmur among themselves. Janice noted there were more than a few shocked gasps and pale faces, but no one looked panicked. "And it's true that we're going to fight them. It's damn true." More murmurs at that, but muted. Obviously, if Carabinera had gone to this much trouble for a briefing, the Sentinels were going to stay.

"Now let me explain our position." She pulled a long branch out of the snow and used it as a pointer. "This cluster of rocks here—that's Vingaard Keep, 15 kilometers west of Belt. These are the Adele Mountains to the south, the Palanthas Mountains to the west, the Little Khalkists to the southeast, and the Highwoods, right where you're standing, here." She pointed to clumps of snow, packed together like a child's snow fort. "Up north here is the Northern Sea, and this river here—" Carabinera pointed to a long, meandering score in the snow "—this is the Vingaard River. This whole flat area around Vingaard and between the mountains is called the Solamnia Plain. Nice, rolling hills and farmland. Good 'Mech and tank country." She smiled at them, which was mildly frightening. Only Carabinera's mother had ever called her beautiful. "Which is why we're going to make sure the Clans never get into this plain."

She reached into a pocket of her parka and took out wooden blocks liberated from some infant's playpen, marked with the letters _A, B, C, D, G, L,_ _M,_ and _S._ Carabinera then tossed them onto the ground, seemingly randomly. "These blocks represent Sentinel battalions, which I'm sure even a slow bastard like you can realize, Avery." Avery Harrison, one of Carabinera's lance commanders, just rolled his eyes. Carabinera's smile became a grin, which did not improve her looks; she did not visit dentists on a regular basis.

"Okay. Alpha Battalion's going down here, at Cascade. As you can see with my awesome snowy skills, the Adeles are narrow here—we've got two passes, Hardy Creek and Wolf Creek—and if the Smoke Jags down in Helena are stupid enough to try and get through those passes, Alpha will eat 'em up.

"I'll come back to us. Here's Ceta, up here covering our northern flank, across the Vingaard River. There's only two crossings of that river, the bridge at Fort Benton and the ferry at Loma. If the Nova Cats try to flank us up to the north, Ceta can hold them off until we can send them some help. Their hovertanks will also act as scouts and so on as needed, since they don't need no stinkin' bridges." No one laughed at her joke, and Carabinera looked disappointed.

"Delta is in reserve, back in Vingaard Keep. Their job is to hold the DropPort and the city in case we have to skedaddle offplanet. Sucks to be them, because we're not going anywhere.

"Gamma is down south of us, in the Little Belts. There's a chance the Cats might try something funny and go over King's Hill Pass, so Gamma's there to stop them, just in case. Probably the Cats won't try it, because that's not only a narrow pass, it's a high one. There's big snowdrifts all over it. Gamma will also come help us if we need 'em.

"L is for Lightning, and that's the Lightning Battalion. They're over here, guarding Rogers Pass with the Snowbirds through the Palanthas Mountains. That pass is actually pretty easy to get through, except for a gnarly portion right at the top. In case the Smoke Jaguars aren't the idiots we've come to know and loathe, they'll try for Rogers. If so, I imagine Tessya and this Broughton dude will give them a nice reception.

"Then we come to Senefa's mad band of Clans. 'M' is for Malthus, and she's also in Vingaard. Since her merry men can move faster than most of the rest of us, her job is to act like a fireman. Any gaps appear in the line, she plugs them. Since Clan Sentinel hasn't even had a chance to break through their deodorant yet, they're mad as hell and want to kill something.

"And now there's us—Beta Battalion. If you're asking why I'm giving this briefing and it's just me and Mimi, Saui and John are in Vingaard making sure our supplies get to us. They'll be back up tonight. That and Saui's briefings are boring, and John would just be trying to look down Janice da Sousa's parka over there." Janice was taken by surprise at the sudden mention of her name, and her cheeks went red. That did bring some laughs, and Carabinera winked at her to show it was nothing personal.

"Anyhow, we've drawn the toughest part: Armington Junction. It's not even really a pass per se; it's just a wide spot between the Highwoods and the Little Khalkist Mountains over there. It's wider than any of the other passes, and has a nice four-lane highway going right through it. The Nova Cats retreated through Armington the other day, so there's a good chance they'll come back right here." She stabbed the branch next to the block marked _B._ "It's the most obvious spot.

"So here's our disposition. Beta/2, you're up front. It's only wide enough for a company at a time, and you guys are tough enough to stop a Clan attack, and fast enough to fall back before the Cats swamp you. Right behind is Beta/1; you heavies will backstop Beta/2. The pass is wider there, so Beta/2 can fall back to your right and take up position there. Beta/3, we're staying here in Belt. Besides being great because we can be toasty warm while Beta/1 and 2 freeze their asses off, our job is guard Beta/2's left. The Cats will have to go straight up the middle here, and they'll open up our right flank to us. So if they hit us, Beta/1 and 2 act like the anvil—we're the hammer."

Carabinera put her hands on her waist. "Right now we're pure defensive. We're waiting to see what the Clans do. I understand Sheila's got something in mind for them in the next 48 hours, but I'm not privy to what that is. However, if the Cats don't come at us, we'll go after them soon enough—and if they _do_ come at us, we'll counterattack once we stop them. And I know we will. Any questions?"

Ken Lough, one of Stykkis' lancemates, raised his hand. "Yeah. I know we'll stop them and all, but what happens if we don't? We're not doing stand and die, are we?"

Stykkis spoke up. "Fuck no. If things get dicey, we fall back onto the Plain and back towards Vingaard. Rest assured, Ken, that I will definitely be screaming my cute little ass off for Senefa and Hunnar to get up here and save us."  
"It's not little," Lough replied, with a straight face.

"Fuck you, Ken!" Stykkis smiled sweetly.

"Is that an order, Major?"

"Children!" Carabinera shouted. "My word, I've never heard the like!" She laughed and pointed towards a young man with the unlikely name of Gerwalk Liberty, one of the MechWarriors in the Kwik Killers' sister lance, the 21st Fusiliers. He nodded and put his hand down. "What happened to the Waco Rangers and the Scavengers."

"The Scavengers are stuck back on Wolcott or somelike," Carabinera explained. "Blown seal on their JumpShip. They'll be here eventually, but we're not waiting on 'em. The Rangers…" Her expression changed to a scowl. "The Rangers got chicken and ran. They won't be joining us, and bad cess to them."

"So it's just us and the Lightning Battalion, then?" Liberty asked.

"And the Virentofta Militia. Yep."

Liberty didn't say anything else, and Janice felt the uncertainty in the crowd. The Lightning Battalion was better than nothing, but they were not Sentinels and were not to be trusted. Moreover, another rumor going around the regiment was that there was some bad blood between the Lightning's commander and Sheila Arla-Vlata. Though not everyone in the Sentinels liked her, Sheila was still their commander and was to be defended: the Sentinels might occasionally call Sheila tight-assed, stuffy and just plain weird, but nobody else had the right to say it. As for the militia, the Sentinels had dealt with "scarecrow soldiers" before, with less than great results. As far as the men and women of Beta Battalion were concerned, the Sentinels were alone.

"Any other questions?" Carabinera said. There were none. She nodded. "All right then. Folks, I agree with Sheila. This is good ground. We can hold 'em here, then we'll smash 'em up. Time is on our side, and so is God. And if God isn't on our side, then He can by God watch!"

That was a good enough sendoff, even if Janice was a little offended by the blasphemy. Cursing and taking the Lord's name in vain seemed to be just something MechWarriors did, along with smoking and hooking-up. She had no intention to do any of that. The battalion gave a somewhat weak cheer and broke up, to get back to warm billets and 'Mechs, or check over the snow table, or talk in small groups.

* * *

Janice was about to leave with Ayl when she saw Hideo Matsuta. He had been at the edge of the crowd and now shuffled towards them, head down. "Hi, Hideo," Janice greeted him.

"Hi, Lance Commander," he mumbled.

Ayl leaned in closer. "You all right, buddy?"

"No, John. I'm not." He looked away, avoiding their stares. Matsuta hesitated a moment, then pulled out a pin from his pocket and handed it to Janice. She blinked in surprise: the pin was gold and carried a small 'Mech on it; a MechWarrior pin, what set a Sentinel MechWarrior apart. "I'm sorry, Lance Commander da Sousa. I quit."

"You what?" Janice was more shocked than angry.

"I quit," Matsuta repeated. He was not looking at the ground now, but at the two of them. "You think it's easy for me to do this?"

"Hey, hey," Ayl said, reassuringly. "No one's saying anything, Hideo. Why are you leaving the lance?" He deliberately avoided the word quitting. "Is it the situation we're in?" Ayl's finger swirled around in the air, taking in the whole valley. "I can tell you, Hideo buddy, that we're all a little scared. But hey, it's like Gnea said—it's good ground—"

"It's not that." Matsuta's anger faded at Ayl's even tone. "It's not what's going on right now. I was gonna quit before the drop."

Janice finally found her voice. "But why? Why didn't you?"

Matsuta shrugged, kicking at the snow. "I don't know. I thought the fear would go away. I was scared through training, but everyone else was too, and you know…it didn't seem _real_ in training. Even with the siege on Thorin, it didn't seem real. Like we were watching a holovid or something. Then we got into that fight at Gibson Flats the other day, and…" His anger returned, but now it was directed at himself. "Fuck…I pissed myself, John. All over the fuckin' ejection seat."

Ayl laughed. "Oh hell, Hideo, is that all? I shit myself the first time my 'Mech took a shot to the head. Friggin' LB round popped me right in the canopy, and I went all over the seat too. My tech was so pissed he made me clean it with a roll of toilet paper. We're all scared, buddy! Even Halberd."

"Even Halberd?" Janice and Matsuta spoke in stereo.

"She pukes before every combat drop. Not in her _Whitworth,_ but in the DropShip beforehand. Every time. I hear Major Stykkis has to screw someone before every drop to get her scares out. You know, she and the Commander, I hear—"

Matsuta put up a hand. "John…man, I appreciate what you're trying to do. Really, I do. But I'm done. I can't do it anymore. I'm going to get someone killed. That's what I'm afraid of. I don't care if I get killed—I don't have anyone—but I don't want to get anyone else killed when I screw up and freeze. And I'm going to, Lance Commander. I did at Gibson Flats."

"I did too," Janice insisted.

Matsuta gave her a sad smile. "Nice try, ma'am, but no, you didn't." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, really. But I just can't. If I get into another 'Mech again, I'll freak out. I'll freak out and freeze." They saw his hands begin to shake, the eyes widen slightly. Janice was stunned. Even talking about it, Matsuta was terrified. He was right, she decided: right now, Hideo Matsuta was a danger to everyone around him, to say nothing of himself. She discarded her next idea, which was to shame him into getting back into his 'Mech. She would not sentence Ayl or Halberd to pair with him, because watching out for Matsuta could indeed get them killed. They would be down a MechWarrior, but they would just have to make do. "Stykkis is going to blow a gasket," Janice sighed.

"I know, ma'am. I'll go tell her."

"No…that's okay. I'd better do it." Mimi was likely to jam one of her crutches up Matsuta's behind, Janice mused to herself. Stykkis did not have much time for other people's weaknesses.

"What're you going to do, Hideo?" Ayl asked. "They'll never evacuate you offplanet. Not now."

"I'm not leaving the regiment. I talked to a friend in the tech battalion. They'll find me something to do." Since Matsuta was no tech, Janice knew, that meant he would not be working in the 'Mech bays. There was always necessary work to do that required unskilled hands—offloading DropShips, filling out paperwork, coordinating with local civilians, even getting Commander Arla-Vlata's coffee, she supposed. Matsuta would likely, eventually be parted from the Sentinels, to return to civilian life.

"If I accept this," she told him, "that means you'll never be allowed back. That's the rules."

"I know, Lance Commander. I wouldn't have done it if I didn't mean it."

"Well…take care of yourself." She hesitated, then reached out and hugged him. She felt genuine sorrow; Matsuta was giving up a lot. He did not return the hug. It was as if Matsuta was already mentally cutting himself off.

"Yeah. Good luck, buddy." Ayl shook hands. Matsuta gave them a nod, then shuffled back towards the school, alone. Janice doubted that anyone in Beta would even remember him in six months; he would just be that one guy who could not hack it. Hideo Matsuta would be no longer welcome in the fraternity of Sentinel MechWarriors. He would be forgotten, not entirely accidentally.

But there was nothing to be done. She sighed. "C'mon, Jon," Janice said. "We have to tell the Major and Halberd. We'll find another MechWarrior somewhere, I'm sure."

"Yeah." Ayl watched Matsuta disappear behind the corner of the school, then turned and followed his lance commander.


	16. Past Crimes and Misdemeanors

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yeah, it's been over a year since I touched this story. To be honest, I never should have tried writing two stories at once-this one and Evangelion Evolution. Here lately, I haven't even had time for that, as I'm averaging a chapter once a month._

 _But...I've been rereading a lot of Battletech fiction lately, and the muse finally stirred to complete the next chapter of this. This was a tough one to write, because I'm trying not to portray either protagonist in a good or bad light-I want the reader to decide. So now that the creative juices are flowing again, maybe I can knock out some more chapters over Thanksgiving break. Or maybe not...but I'm going to try._

 _The College of Vingaard Keep_

 _Virentofta, Smoke Jaguar Occupation Zone_

 _30 October 3056_

Max Canis-Vlata stood outside the door of the Student Center, turned into a command post by the Sentinels. The students of CVK were enjoying a short, unplanned vacation from classes: though the Clans had not tried it yet, there was certainly a possibility that the college could be hit by an airstrike.

He tapped the datapad against his gloved hand, unsure if he wanted to do this or not. Sheila had offered to do so, but there was too much of a chance of an explosion. It could've been done by really any officer, but Max maintained that it was part of the job.

He went inside. It was a short trip up the stairs to the lounge, where Steven Broughton stood, looking out the window. Max realized the commander of the Lightning Battalion probably had watched Max walk across the campus oval. Broughton turned as Max walked in. He nodded. "Major."

"Colonel." They were inside, so neither saluted. Max handed the datapad over to Broughton. "Here's your orders. You'll be supporting the Snowbirds at Rogers Pass. "

Broughton raised an eyebrow. "That pass is fairly narrow. Do the Snowbirds need help?"

"We expect the Smoke Jaguars to attack there. Going through the Adels south of us would take too long, and the terrain's even worse there. Rogers is the best spot."

"I see. And you know the Jaguars will attack how?"

Max resisted the urge to simply tell Broughton to do his damn job and obey orders. He remembered, all the way back to the abortive Blackjack raid in 3050, Broughton's tendency to sound like he was talking down to people. "We have something planned for them." At the disbelieving look on Broughton's face, Max added, "Have you fought the Smoke Jaguars before, Colonel?"

"No," Broughton admitted after a pause.

"We have. Twice. Once on Kagoshima during the war, once during Operation Cutter. They don't tend to use a lot of finesse. They just attack. Doesn't mean they're any less deadly—the Jags certainly can power their way through through sheer firepower—but it's not like fighting the Wolves or the Jade Falcons." Max nodded with more confidence than he felt. "They'll attack."  
"And what if they do attack through the Adels?"

"Let's hope they're that stupid. By the time they get through Wolf Creek and Hardy Creek Passes, we could have half the regiment down there. Matter of fact, you'll be within 60 kilometers of Hardy Creek Pass, so we'd just shift you down there."

Broughton patted the datapad absently with one hand. "And if the Nova Cats attack first?"

Max was suddenly tired of the questions. Why couldn't the man just accept what he was given? "Colonel, would you prefer we just put you in reserve here in Vingaard Keep? Lieutenant Commander Malthus would be more than happy to take your position at Rogers Pass."

Broughton must have noticed Max's frustration. "No…no, Major, I wouldn't. Rogers Pass is fine. I'm just surprised that we're _not_ being thrown into reserve."

"Why would we do that?"

Broughton leaned back against the fireplace. A small fire burned there, filling the room with both warmth and a pleasant hickory aroma. "Come now, Major. I'm quite sure you're aware of the shared history between myself and your wife. I figured that she wouldn't trust me with anything else."

 _You mean that's what you would do, Colonel,_ Max caught himself thinking. "That was a long time ago, Colonel."

Broughton gave a small shrug. "Fair enough. Tessya Blackthorn commands the Snowbirds? I understand she went through the entire Clan War with a _Wasp._ Quite an achievement."

"She pilots a _Crusader_ now." It felt kind of lame to say.

"What does she think about me?" Broughton asked.

"I doubt she bears a grudge, Colonel."

"Unlike some people," Broughton commented.

Max had enough. He had been wanting to ask anyway, and it was time. "Colonel, permission to speak frankly?"  
Broughton seemed surprised Max would even ask permission, but he was the senior officer. "Of course, Major."

"What are you doing here?"

The other man looked quizzically at Max. "I'm afraid I don't follow you, Major."

"Come on, Colonel. Give me a break. You stand there, questioning what you know is a sound strategic decision. Then you're asking if any of the Sentinels bear a grudge—"

"No, Major. I'm asking if any of the former _Snowbirds_ bear a grudge," Broughton interrupted. "They're very loyal to to Commander Arla-Vlata. I don't blame them, considering all you went through during the war. I want to know if I'm going to get 'accidentally' back-shotted during the battle with the Smoke Jaguars."

"That's bullshit," Max snapped. "We'd never do that. None of us. Like I said, Blackjack was a long time ago."

"Then why isn't your wife here giving me my orders?" Broughton smiled wryly. Max hesitated, and the colonel pounced. "Because she still hates me."

Max smiled back, with about as much humor. "Can you blame her, Colonel? You tried to destroy her career. You had her court-martialed on rather questionable charges, and something that could've been handled with administrative punishment—a letter of reprimand, even verbal counseling—you blew up into something that was all out of proportion. A court-martial wasn't necessary. You did your level best to ruin her career, and I have to wonder if it was to deflect the AFFC from looking too hard at the mistakes _you_ made during that campaign." He fixed Broughton with a stare. "You remember, Colonel— _I_ was on Blackjack too."

To Max's surprise, Broughton chuckled. "I thought it was a long time ago, Major." He held up a hand before Max could reply. "And honestly, it was. Perhaps I did try to ruin Arla-Vlata's career. But if I did, I certainly failed, did I not? After all, she was stripped of company command—but after the Battle of Pascia Grove on Planting, her father gave her a battalion, the Snowbirds. And the rest was history." He shrugged. "I'm curious, Major. Did you ever wonder why the Lightning Regiment is now the Lightning Battalion?"

"You guys got torn up on Tamar against the Wolves." Max decided to try and defuse things a bit. "Not your fault. Duke Kelswa ordered you into an impossible position. You were lucky anyone got out, much less half the regiment."

Broughton did not answer at first, and Max could see that he was reliving the horror of Tamar, if only for a moment. Max was speaking the truth: Broughton was to be commended for salvaging anything at all. As he recalled, however, Broughton had not gotten much of a commendation. The Kelswa family needed a scapegoat for the loss of Tamar, and any commander who survived qualified.

Then Broughton spoke. "Yes, we did. We ended up in reserve for the rest of the war. A lot of the survivors left when the war ended, because I didn't want to take a contract with Liao or Marik. I wanted to fight the Clans. _They_ were the ones who had killed so many good men and women…" He paused, looked up at Max. Another shrug. "Well, you know how it was, Major."

"Only too well, Colonel."

"Except that I wasn't a classmate of Victor Steiner-Davion, and I didn't get a reception at the Triad when the war ended. I didn't have a Commonwealth Medal of Honor. The Lightning Battalion was assigned to guard duty on the Marik frontier. Oh, it paid well enough, and it kept people in the battalion that didn't want to fight the Clans again. But _I_ wanted to fight the Clans again. Badly. I applied for duty on the Clan frontier. On Koniz, actually…but I was denied, because the Sentinels were there, and the Federated Commonwealth thought that Steven Broughton and Sheila Arla-Vlata would not mix well together. So once more, the Lightning Battalion stood on the sidelines while the mighty Snowbird won yet another battle against the Clans."

"You make it sound like it was easy," Max shot back. "It wasn't. The Clans started off the campaign with a headhunter attack on Sheila's headquarters. I wasn't there at the time, but the SLI platoon on duty barely stopped the Jade Falcons." Max suppressed a shudder. Sheila had evaded death only by taking shelter in the crawlspace above their bedroom. The Falcon Elementals never thought to look there. "And then we were forced back 200 klicks."

"But the Jade Falcons got overconfident. They thought the mountains on their left flank were impassable for 'Mechs…and they were very wrong, weren't they?" Broughton shook his head. "Credit where credit is due, Major. Your wife did very well. I'll not dispute that."

They were both silent for a moment. "You still haven't answered the question, Colonel. What are you doing here?"

Broughton laughed. "Come now, Major, you know the answer already. I'm here for the same reason Sheila made the decision to take on five Clan Clusters two days ago."  
"If you think she's doing this for glory—"

"Actually, I don't," Broughton replied. "She's doing it for the same reason I am."

"And that is?"

"To prove herself. She wants to be known as the first one to ever take on five Clan Clusters and beat them." Broughton pointed at himself. "Me, I want the Lightning Battalion to prove that it's not afraid of the Clans. That's why I jumped at the chance to work for the Dragon, even though I've never had much time for Kurita. And just like Arla-Vlata, I have to prove it to myself." He returned Max's stare. "Isn't that true, Major?"

Max wasn't sure to laugh or to punch Broughton. Not because the other man was wrong, but because he was very right.


	17. Dawn Patrol

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, another chapter after only two weeks. I'm on a roll!  
A few quick notes about this chapter, which all air combat action (sort of). Yes, there's definitely a shout-out to Steve Galacci's "Albedo" here, with Erma and Toki making an appearance-though here they're humans, rather than catgirl and mousegirl. I'm a big fan of Galacci's work, so this is an homage to a great anthro sci-fi series. The fourth member of Gold Flight, Demon Dronet, is based on a stuntman and sword master that has attended Miscon a few times; he's a great guy, so I'm paying a little tribute to him by inserting him here.  
Two more last shout-outs: the DropPort is named for my stepfather, and the character of "Father Chris Martin" is based on a real person, a chaplain for the 355th Tactical Fighter Wing during the Vietnam War. Fr. Martin died of cancer about 20 years ago, but his flight suit is on display at the National Museum of the USAF in Dayton, Ohio. I had the honor of meeting Fr. Martin shortly before his passing, and he was both an officer and a gentleman._

 _MUSIC TO FLY BY: Hey, I haven't done one of these in a long time. The Overture from "Tommy" by Henry Mancini was what inspired this chapter, and "Supermarine" from Dunkirk is also a great little piece._

 _Vingaard Keep-Poletto Memorial DropPort_

 _Vingaard Keep, Virentofta, Smoke Jaguar Occupation Zone_

 _31 October 3056_

Martin St. Mawgan was none too sure of his orders. They were simple enough: take off, fly 200 or so kilometers south, bomb the Smoke Jaguars' headquarters, and return. That wasn't the problem. The problem was surviving the trip…especially given what he was to take with him.

He was to only take eight aerofighters.

St. Mawgan looked at himself in the mirror. He had ducked into the bathroom to relieve himself—not because he was nervous, so much as the fact that he had already drank four cups of coffee this morning. It was far too early for man or beast. Nervousness was for newbies, and Saint, as he was known to the other pilots of the Sentinels AeroWing, was no newbie. He was on his fourth year of leading the wing.

He splashed water on his face and ran his fingers over his mustache, trimmed short and thin. It was what the other pilots called a "bulletproof mustache," in the belief that you could never be killed if you had one. It was just a silly superstition thousands of years old, St. Mawgan knew, but he grew it and maintained it just the same. Just in case.

A quick check at his overlarge chronometer—another fighter pilot affectation that dated back for millennia—told St. Mawgan it was time to go.

He walked out of the bathroom, through the deserted civilian terminal, and out the door where baggage handlers usually went. The cold air hit him like a punch to the face. Despite the thick coat he wore over his flight suit, he shivered. It was well below zero Centigrade, and dark, lit by the sodium lamps of the tarmac. There was no snow on the runway or tarmac at least, but it was still frigid. Normally, there would have been a few atmospheric airliners, with perhaps a DropShip or two sitting on the tarmac, but now it was crowded with the Sentinels' DropShips. The egg-shaped monsters towered over him, bristling with antennae and gun emplacements. St. Mawgan was glad that he didn't have to attack a DropPort. That was never fun.

He walked around the DropShips and to the outer edge of the tarmac, where his eight aerofighters waited. Each wore the two shades of gray camouflage the Sentinels favored, since it blended well with the clouds and against snow. The tails were decorated with the sword crest of the Sentinels, along with various squadron emblems. A knot of pilots awaited him there. All had been handpicked for the mission.

St. Mawgan knew them all, of course—even with one of the larger mercenary AeroWings in the Inner Sphere, there were still only 48 pilots. He devoted special attention to the other three pilots who would be part of his attack force, though. St. Mawgan himself would lead the attack; the Sentinels emphasized that commanders led from the front, and Saint was no different.

The two women—though one could not tell their gender from the layers of cold weather gear—were Erma Felna and Toki Takahara. They were a study of contrasts: Felna was older, more serious, someone who lived for her duty and not much else, despite her callsign of "Fastball." Takahara was short, vivacious, and fun-loving; her callsign of "Mounds" was obvious even through the thick jacket, as a tribute to her rather large breasts. Rounding out the fourth was Danny Dronet, nicknamed "Demon" for the way he flew. Dronet looked more like a Clan Elemental than a fighter pilot, and his crew chief joked that he needed a shoe horn to get his pilot in the cockpit. Dronet grinned at St. Mawgan around a cigarette, despite the fact that they were standing close to fully-armed fighter aircraft loaded with bombs, missiles and reaction fuel.

"Mornin'," St. Mawgan said.

"Morning," they all chorused.

"Well, all set?" There were nods. They had been briefed the night before. "Okay, then. Let's go." He turned away for his own aircraft, and heard Takahara joke that Saint was never much for speechifying. There really wasn't anything to say.

* * *

St. Mawgan walked the short steps to his aerofighter. It was a new design, called the _Jayhawk,_ designed by Jalastar Aerospace after the experience of the Clan War. It looked fast and was, with a raked, cranked-arrow wing and twin tails. It used all energy weapons and was built for dogfighting with the slightly more agile and armed Clan Omnifighters; it was not quite as fast or maneuverable as the Clan fighters were, but could take much more of a beating. As St. Mawgan liked to describe it to other pilots, the _Jayhawk_ was built for bushwhacking: he would use its superiority in a dive to fall on his Clan opponents, shoot the hell out of them, then use the kinetic energy built up to climb back into position. There were fifteen kill marks on beneath the bubble canopy. Today, however, there would be no dogfighting—he hoped. Beneath the wing were nestled four 1000-pound bombs.

St. Mawgan took off the heavy parka, climbed into the _Jayhawk_ and went through the preflight checklist, which included strapping into the fighter and connecting various hoses and probes—G-suit, oxygen, radio, and such. At least he would not need the bulkier pressure suit, as all the flying today would be done atmospherically. When that was done, he punched in the appropriate position numbers into the _Jayhawk's_ navigation system from the notes on his legpad and closed the canopy. He started the engines, listened to the _Jayhawk_ come to life, then signaled to his crew chief to pull the chocks. St. Mawgan and his fighter were ready to go.

He steered the aerofighter out of its parking space and onto the taxiway, where he stopped. St. Mawgan held his hands up to the canopy as the ordnance techs disconnected the safeties from the bombs; this was to let them know that his hands were nowhere near a switch or button that would do something stupid, like accidentally drop a bomb and kill them all. As he did so, he saw a short man in a parka and noticed the Roman collar at his throat. He nodded at the figure and clasped his hands together. Father Christopher Martin nodded back and gave both aircraft and pilot the Sign of the Cross. St. Mawgan wasn't Catholic—he had been raised Presbyterian—but figured that he could use all the help he could get. Once the armorers were done and gave him the clear sign, St. Mawgan resumed taxiing to the end of the runway.

"Gold One to Home. Holding for takeoff, Runway 29 Right," he radioed the tower.

"Gold One, Home. Cleared for takeoff, active runway. Winds are light out of the west, temperature two below, visibility unlimited. Good luck, Gold."

"Thanks, Home. See you in a bit." _I hope,_ St. Mawgan thought. He pushed down with both feet on the toe brakes as he ran the _Jayhawk_ up to full power. The twin engines rose from their steady rumble to a screaming roar, and the whole aircraft shook like a horse wanting to run free. A quick scan of the instrument panel showed everything in the green, so St. Mawgan let off the brakes. The _Jayhawk_ instantly surged forward, pressing him back in the seat. The speedometer raced to takeoff speed in seconds, and St. Mawgan raised the nose gently. The _Jayhawk_ easily had enough thrust to immediately shoot him into a vertical climb, even take him into space, but there was no need for that, and St. Mawgan didn't want to risk tearing the bombs off. It probably wouldn't happen, but there was no need to chance it.

The _Jayhawk_ rose smoothly; the landing gear retracted into their wells with a thump. He pulled back the throttle slightly out of full speed, then put the fighter into a wide circle, taking himself away from the runway and out over the wheatfields west of the DropPort. He watched as the other three aerofighters rose into the air. Felna flew a _Jayhawk_ like himself, but Takahara flew a _Stingray_ , with its characteristic forward-swept wings, and Dronet a heavy _Stuka._ Once they were up safely, he waggled his wings, put the _Jayhawk_ into a shallow climb, and turned south. Felna settled in on his left wing, while Takahara and Dronet flew about a kilometer behind and to the right. It was coloquially known to fighter pilots as the expanded box.

He checked below him; the _Jayhawk's_ bubble canopy gave it excellent all-around vision. The wheatfields, now far below as he leveled out, gave way quickly to mesas and then mountains. The mountains were snowcovered and a chaotic mess; St. Mawgan remembered reading somewhere in the briefing that the Adel Mountains, as they were known, were the remnants of a long-dead volcanic field. Cliffs and ridges shared space with craggy mountaintops, and the Vingaard River ran through it, half-frozen. Only a few lights shone, though he could see in the half-light of the approaching dawn the superhighway that ran from Vingaard Keep to Helena. Somewhere in that jumble of rocks, in the narrow passes that the highway went through, were the 'Mechs of Alpha Battalion.

St. Mawgan returned his gaze to checking the sky around him. There was a thin haze on the eastern horizon, turned pink by the rising sun—which on Virentofta, rose in the northeast during the winter—and one of the planet's three moons sat on the western horizon, glowing white. It was a beautiful, if cold, morning.

They had a few minutes, so St. Mawgan went over the plan again in his mind. It was simple enough, really. His four fighters would fly south to the edge of the Adel Mountains, then turn east. By now, whatever radars the Smoke Jaguars had likely detected them, but St. Mawgan was betting that they would assume the four-ship was the morning combat air patrol. The Sentinels had maintained one ever since landing on Virentofta, and it was hoped that both sides had settled into a routine. However, once they reached the Initial Point—the IP—the four aerofighters would suddenly turn south and dash in at supersonic speed over the planetary capital of Helena, where the Smoke Jaguars' headquarters was located. A quick dive, bomb release, then a climb out, then a high speed run back over the mountains. All this was predicated on guesses—that the Jaguar warriors, soft from garrison duty, would not expect the airstrike; that they would make the assumptions the Sentinels wanted them to; and that they would be slow to react. A few alert MechWarriors, a _Naga_ or two loaded with homing Arrow IVs that could be used as surface-to-air missiles, or even just foot soldiers sitting around a flak gun or two could make things dicey.

There was, of course, the Smoke Jaguars' own aerofighters. Once more, the Sentinels were making a guess. Every morning, at 6 AM, the Jaguars landed their nighttime combat air patrol for breakfast, then sortied the morning patrol about thirty minutes later. St. Mawgan supposed this was due to two factors—the fact that the Jaguar Dragoon garrison clusters did not have a great deal of air support like the Sentinels did, and therefore could not keep up a 24-hour CAP, and that they were still in garrison routine. There was always the possibility that this was the one day they would delay breakfast, or stay up longer, or get reinforcements.

Guess upon assumption upon guess. St. Mawgan did have a contingency plan: neither Takahara nor Dronet were burdened with bombs. They were configured for dogfighting. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

* * *

The Adels climbed to their apex, a long, low ridge called the Sleeping Giant. From here, the highway turned through a long glacial valley with high sides, then veered south to snake down two more lower ridges before heading into Helena itself. He could see the city now in the distance: there were streetlights on. Blackouts were for morale purposes; with modern battlefield technology, darkness hid nothing.

"Gold One from Catseye Two. Blue skies. Catseye out." The sudden radio call startled St. Mawgan, but it was one he had expected, and hoped for. A hundred kilometers behind and above him orbited a Catseye airborne early warning radar aircraft. The Sentinels had invested in two of the ungainly looking aircraft, which were only good in atmosphere; they were expensive for air-breathers, but St. Mawgan had convinced Commander Arla-Vlata to spend the money. They had paid for themselves. By having an airborne radar, it denied the Sentinels' enemies the ability to sneak through blind spots in ground radar, or hide behind the curvature of the planet itself.

And the Catseye had seen that the skies were clear over Helena. The Smoke Jaguars were right where they were supposed to be. "Hope it's a good breakfast, boys," St. Mawgan chuckled to himself. He waggled his wings again and turned east. Felna stayed with him through the turn as if she was welded to his left wing.

There was a beep from his instrument panel, and St. Mawgan looked on the Heads-Up Display. It showed a strobe off to his left, and a red warning light was lit. A Smoke Jaguar radar was tracking him. The light was not flashing, which meant he was only being looked at, not locked onto. That was fine.

He checked the chronometer, gave the skies a last scan to make sure there were no Jaguars waiting in ambush, then broke radio silence for the first time since taking off fifteen minutes before. "Gold Flight, check in."

"Two." Felna.

"Three!" Takahara.

"Four." Dronet.

"Clean 'em up, green 'em up, turn on your music." Four sets of hands reached to the instrument panel. Weapons doors were opened on missile tubes, gauges were checked for any issues, and weapons were checked to make sure they were operational. Last, four fingers switched on their internal electronic countermeasures. The Jaguar radar operators would now be seeing the four blips of Gold Flight disappear into blobs that would be almost impossible to lock onto. The radars would burn through the jamming quickly enough, but by that time it would be too late.

"Gold Flight, buster for target… _now!_ " St. Mawgan slammed the stick into his right knee and kicked the right rudder pedal. The _Jayhawk_ made a sharp turn before St. Mawgan leveled out. It was only for a moment, though, as he began randomly moving the _Jayhawk_ around the sky, to throw off any ground fire. There wasn't. Helena lay below him, still lit up, still asleep.

The cursor on the HUD pulsed gold, to the left and below the nose. The radar, slaved to the navigation computer, had locked onto the target, a group of buildings just to the left of the planetary capitol complex. It traced a line on the HUD, showing St. Mawgan where to fly to get the bombs on target. The seconds whirled by, and then it was time.

"Rolling in," St. Mawgan called out, to warn Felna; he couldn't see her, but he assumed she had dropped into trail, where she was supposed to be. He rolled the _Jayhawk_ , then dived, eyes on the HUD: the bomb line intersected with the gold square that was centered on the buildings. This would be a little tricky, St. Mawgan mused; his orders were not to hit the capitol complex. He almost laughed: the Jaguars had helpfully painted their Clan sigil, a gray jaguar against a black starburst, on the building their headquarters was located in. The building had a slanted roof, and it was clearly to intimidate the locals, remind them who was boss. "Not for long," St. Mawgan said aloud. There were 'Mechs parked around the building in random positions, but no weapon arms raised or weapons locked on.

A quick glance at the altimeter, a held breath, and St. Mawgan pressed the trigger, twice. He felt the kick as all four bombs separated from the aircraft, which instantly felt lighter. St. Mawgan immediately hauled the stick into his lap and slammed the throttles forward to full military power. His vision greyed and his G-suit squeezed him hard as he pulled out of the dive, but cleared as he eased off the power slightly, and began to throw the _Jayhawk_ around, just in case the computer was wrong or there was a canny MechWarrior firing over open sights. No fire came, and he was quickly out of range of ground fire. He rolled upside down and— _hot damn!_

St. Mawgan had looked down just to see his bombs detonate. The whole building seemed to leap off its foundations as flames burst from the ruptured roof and windows; the Smoke Jaguar sigil dissolved and disappeared. Then Felna's bombs added to the destruction, and the building itself, along with the four around it, vanished in towering columns of smoke and fire. He looked for Felna, and saw the other _Jayhawk_ clearing the explosion, doing the same gyrations he was. One last glance back—he grinned to see a _Puma_ 'Mech go flying end over end down the street—and it was time to go.

"Sierra Hotel, Saint!" Takahara called out. Sierra Hotel: ancient fighter pilot lingo for _shit hot,_ the best ever. "Hundred percent on the bombs! No collateral damage that I can see. Want us to go down and strafe?"

"Negative, Mounds. Let's get the hell out of here." It was tempting—all fighter pilots liked to remind MechWarriors who really ruled the battlefield, as a good strafing run could tear apart even an assault 'Mech. But that wasn't the mission, and making a second run on an alerted target was a good way to get killed. He turned north and headed for the hills. Felna dropped in well off and to the left, and above them were Takahara and Dronet.

"Demon here," Dronet sang out. "Bandits, three o'clock low."

St. Mawgan and the rest of the flight instantly looked down and to the right. He could not see anything. St. Mawgan's heart rate, which had remained normal throughout even the bomb run, now rose. It was the one you couldn't see that would kill you. "Saint, no joy."

"They're taking off, Saint."

St. Mawgan's eyes now saw the movement. There were the tinest of diamonds, the tails of engines being run up to full power. Someone in the Smoke Jaguars was not asleep, and had scrambled the CAP. There were only four of them…  
"Let's get 'em!" Takahara sang out. Clan Aerofighters on the ground were easy meat. It would take them a few seconds to get into the air. St. Mawgan's hand twitched on the control stick. He almost turned right for the strafing run, but the reflexes of a veteran held him: if the Clan aerojocks were awake, any guns or missile batteries around Helena's airport might be too. No Clan was too honorable not to bait a flak trap.

"Negative!" St. Mawgan shouted, because Takahara was already turning towards the airport. "RTB, now!" Return To Base; their mission here was done.

"Aww, man!" Takahara whined, but he saw the _Stingray_ come back around to the north.

"Next time, Mounds," St. Mawgan reassured her. "It's going to be a long campaign." He switched frequencies. Time for the contingency plan. "Nut from Saint. Playtime."

"Saint from Nut. Roger that."

The four Sentinel fighters raced over the short open plain between Helena and the mountains, and then were over them. St. Mawgan's HUD screeched at him, showing several strobes, and a new warning light lit up and flashed angrily: all four Smoke Jaguar fighters were in the air, and locked onto him. He was still well out of range, but the Clan fighters were faster and hit at a longer range. They would close the range in seconds.

"Now, Nut!"

As Gold Flight flashed over the Sleeping Giant, ten Sentinel fighters rose from the ridges to the right. They had taken off ten minutes after Gold Flight, and stayed low, where the Smoke Jaguar ground radar could not see them. Now they headed at the Jaguars out of the sun, led by Vasala "Nut" dal-Windas. It was the Jaguars' turn to be lit up and locked on.

The Jaguars, at a disadvantage, outnumbered, and unable to see their aggressors in the red orb of the rising sun, did the smart thing. They turned and ran. Dal-Windas called his charges back over the mountains as missiles rose from the airport at them: they were out of range, but dal-Windas would have agreed with St. Mawgan: it was going to be a long campaign, and the Sentinels could not replace any losses from their aerofighters. Downed Clan 'Mechs could be salvaged, repaired, and put back into action, but fighters that crashed and burned were total losses. He hated to—dal-Windas wanted kills as much as any fighter pilot—but there would be other days.

St. Mawgan laughed and could not resist punching a fist into the air. They'd done it. He checked around his _Jayhawk_. Not even a scratch in the armor. He checked in the flight, just in case; all four checked in. They'd done it.

"Saint from Fastball. Not bad, boss." From Felna, that was the equivalent of a wild cheer.

"Yeah, Fastball. Not bad." He grinned behind his mask. "Gold Flight from Saint. Sierra Hotel, guys and gals. Let's head for the barn. First drink is on me."


End file.
